


Unending Wake: Dreamers Often Lie

by harellanart (kabeone)



Series: Those Who Forget [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Time Travel AU, unending wake au... au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:03:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kabeone/pseuds/harellanart
Summary: Solas and Vir navigate their new truce by having conversations in the Fade. It has allowed him insight into her character, but their growing closeness is beginning to affect his dreams even when she's not there.The continuation of Unending Wake: Those Who Forget.





	1. Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a while and I didn't want to add these to the main story. They were supposed to occur after chapter 8 of those who forget but before whatever happens next in the main story. BUT I decided to continue here for chronology's sake.
> 
> Please don't read too much into the main and chapter titles. I was originally going to call this collection of dreams "Those Who Forget How to Write" because I have.

Solas waited in his usual place in the Fade. Why the Inquisitor always chose the rotunda to meet was a mystery. Aside from a few brief and unpleasant encounters, she had avoided it entirely during his time in the Inquisition.

He gazed at the walls, remembering when he decided to record this small part of his history. He had been uncomfortable around so many mortals, all disconnected and ignorant in the ways of the Fade and magic. Painting was something he had always enjoyed. Painting helped him feel normal again.

He had crafted the first mural not long after Vir had declared the Inquisition for her own power. In retrospect it had been a naive, almost hopeful, depiction: a gathering of powers to defeat a common enemy. He already doubted Vir’s motives and methods, but he had no idea the bloodshed he would soon witness and the remaining panels reflected his disappointment.

He dragged his thoughts away from where that path would lead. Meeting the Inquisitor while dwelling on their disagreements never led to a constructive discussion. He tried to relax, to remind himself that despite what had happened they were working together now, but every time he looked up at the walls they stared back at him accusingly, demanding that he remember her treachery.

He closed his eyes and waited as the feeling of the Fade soothed his temper.

“Solas?” Vir asked.

He opened his eyes to find her leaning casually against the doorway. There, surrounded by her conquests, unaffected by the memories of what she had done, anger sparked all over again.

“Solas?” Vir repeated, concerned. She straightened, perhaps sensing his animosity. “Are you alright? Should I leave?”

He gathered his wits. “No, let us talk. But somewhere more interesting than this.” She seemed surprised, then suspicious, but eventually she shrugged and motioned for him to lead.

They walked through mist and Fade, random memories forming a path around them. Here he was not reminded of their past. He relaxed bit by bit until he felt ready to speak.

“Where did we leave off last time?” he asked.

“You were trying to find ways around our rules. Digging as usual,” she made it an accusation, but the corners of her mouth turned up in amusement.

“Ah yes,” he replied, “and you were trying to find ways to lie.”

She laughed at that. “To business then,” she suggested and he agreed.

They discussed the location of the next device and the best approach to activating it. Vir showed no signs of deception, though he would not trust her word outside the Fade. For his part, he did not ask how she could know of a minor noble’s hidden dungeon let alone its contents.

They reached an agreement on how to proceed, but Vir showed no sign of wanting to leave. She seemed content to watch the landscape change. She pointed out pieces of furniture from Skyhold and asked if the books would have words in them, even if she had never read them.

Solas was pleased to answer her questions about the Fade and she never seemed tired of his answers nor did she ever mock his theories. It was a stark contrast to their first conversation and he wondered, once again, what had changed.

The Fade took its cues from him. The stone pathway froze into packed snow, the floating rocks grew and formed the shape of the Frostback mountains, and the Black City became the Breach.

“Haven,” Vir said. “Why here?” Despite asking the question, she seemed unsurprised.

“Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you,” he answered carefully. He waited for her to dismiss the town’s importance, but she only sighed and followed him through the gates.

Even without the damage caused by Corypheus’ attack, there were few places to visit in Haven and they inevitably entered the Chantry where the Inquisition first began.

As they descended the stairs into the dungeon, he realized it was crafted by Vir’s memory, not his. The scent of damp straw overlaying the smell of old blood soaked into stone. He had not remembered that. He had willed himself to forget. It was then that Solas knew what he wanted to show her.

“I remember when I first saw you,” he said, standing in front of the cell that had held her. “You were unconscious and the mark was killing you, but I was surprised you could hold it at all.”

“Corypheus tried to take it from me,” she remarked, circling the small prison. She reached out touching the bars of the cells as she passed them. She looked over her shoulder, meeting his eyes. “Did you?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “And even unconscious, you tried to strangle me.”

She laughed. “An auspicious beginning. Is that what stopped you?”

“No. You would not have survived its removal and in any case I lacked the power to take it at the time.”

“Lucky me,” she said dryly.

He chuckled. “Yes,” he agreed and led her back outside. He recounted his plans at the time, his final attempt to seal the rifts, his failure, and his plans to flee. They relived the moment he took her hand and sealed the first rift. “Right then I felt the whole world change,” he concluded.

She stared at him. It was a look he could not interpret, but one he had seen before. He could not explain how he knew there was something she wanted to say. Something so important she fought herself to keep silent. She stared for so long that he was certain this time she would speak, but the moment passed. “I must have been a terrible disappointment to you,” she said solemnly.

“Indeed,” he said, biting back his frustration. They exited the town, making their way through the forest that led into the mountains. “Despite your initial success, you used your leverage as the Herald to make choices I could not understand.”

They reached an area of trees recently cleared by the Inquisition. Its position against the mountains sheltered it from the worst of the winds, but not much else. Tents emblazoned with symbols of the chantry encircled several makeshift fires.

This is where they lived when the Templars arrived. Workers, servants, villagers seeking refuge from the rifts, you threw them out of Haven to make room for men who could have lived just as well with Cullen’s forces.

“Do you think I ordered this?” Vir asked.

“I overheard your conversation with Josephine. You demanded more security inside of Haven. You threatened to leave if she did not comply. What she did was necessary to make room.” He turned to watch a memory of himself walk among the huddled refugees.

“Josephine didn’t force you out of Haven,” she pointed out. “You didn’t have to leave.”

“Despite most human’s feeling towards elves and mages it was still better here than a town full of Templars.” He did not bother to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Are you digging again?”

“I have asked no questions. I am simply showing you the past as I witnessed it.”

“And what about not using our past to hurt each other?” She raised a brow.

“Does seeing this hurt you?” he asked. Whether she chose to answer would be telling enough.

She looked at the people shivering miserably, sharing rations provided by the Inquisition. Some spoke quietly of what they would do next, but most had nowhere to go.

“Not really,” she said and smiled with patently false innocence. “This was Cullen’s idea.”

He gaped. As a former Templar, Cullen had always sympathized with their position, but he would not have suggested something so cruel. Denial was his first instinct, but the Fade did not disagree with her. “The Fade it… I know you are not lying,” he admitted, “but I still do not believe you.”

Her smile widened. “No? Come on then,” she said and led him back to Haven.

As she walked their surroundings changed. Had he not been preoccupied with her outrageous claim, he would have marveled at her mental discipline. The sound of sparring men and women assaulted them on all sides as they passed through the training grounds. They reached the command tent just as a memory of Vir approached the former Templar.

"Commander Cullen," she called sharply.

"Do you need something?" he asked, pulling his attention away from his soldiers.

"If a large group of mages or,” she waved her hand vaguely, “more red lyrium creatures like the ones we saw at Therinfall were to attack us, how would you defend Haven?"

The line of questioning startled him, but only for a moment. "We have a few trebuchets to take them out at a distance if we can get warning." He considered his options thoughtfully, scratching his perpetually stubbled chin. "We could have everyone retreat to the chantry and close the gates. We could hold out there for some time.”

“Hold out,” she repeated. “And wait for what? Reinforcements we don’t have? Do you think those lyrium beasts will get bored and give up?”

“Haven isn't defensible against an all out assault," he said. “Maker knows I’ve pointed that out to Leliana and Cassandra.”

Vir tilted her head, her posture somehow both mocking and challenging. "Then what are you good for?"

It had the desired effect. He bristled visibly. "Fine. If you want to know what I would do to defend Haven, I'd throw out all the civilians and fill the place with Templars."

The memory faded along with the sparring soldiers. Once again they were alone on a misshapen path littered with random memories. 

Solas sighed. “Of course he would say that.”

Vir raised her chin proudly. “Everyone in that camp survived the attack. They were cold, they were hungry, but they lived.” Her eyes met his, and he knew it was the truth. “I have made mistakes and poor choices. I have hurt countless people by accident and on purpose. Believe me when I say that I do regret many things I have done,” she shook her head, “but not that.”

He knew that memory and reality were affected by perspective. Her decisions at Haven had shaped his opinion of her. Every action she had taken after, only served to reinforce his early assessment. The version of Vir he had known was real, but so too was this one. Still, to find that his perspective lacked the depth of understanding he once prided himself in having, it was difficult to accept.

“How did you know what we would face?” He asked and realized his mistake as soon as he spoke.

She grinned insolently. “That, my friend, is digging.” She laughed at his expression and disappeared.


	2. A dream itself is but a shadow

It was raining inside Skyhold. Vir sat in the rotunda on Solas’s chair with her feet propped up on his desk. The storm that pummeled her makeshift shelter was so loud it even seeped into her dreams and while the enchanted tarp kept off the wet, the Fade paid no such courtesy.

“This is inconvenient,” she remarked to the familiar image. “I made camp to wait out the storm. If I had known I’d still be swimming in my dreams I would have kept walking.”

Solas, a transparent and visibly unhappy Solas, unbent enough to chuckle. He, for whatever reason her imagination conjured, was unaffected by the indoor weather. He stood beside the desk at her feet. His hands were clasped behind his back. It was the way he stood when he needed to say something difficult, but he only stared at her looking sad and disapproving. She had hoped it was the rain or her treatment of his desk, but she knew such hopes were folly. She waited.

“It is too dark for you to travel and too dangerous in this weather,” he admonished. “You should take better care of yourself. You are no longer young.”

“Ouch,” she said and sighed. The waking version of her would soon be suffering for sleeping in such cold and cramped conditions. “Don’t I know it. All the more reason to get this over with quickly. The longer we take to reach the devices, the more difficult it will be to predict what will happen. That is, if I don’t die of old age first.”

He ignored the joke. “We are long past the time where you can predict the future with any certainty.”

She shrugged. “True, but I still know most of the players. Most people are predictable, right?”

Solas went quiet again.

“What?”

“He said the words. ‘I felt the whole world change.’ The opportunity was there and you didn’t take it.”

She pursed her lips. “I told you before, I don’t do that. I’m not going to try to recreate the past for my own benefit. It’s not right.”

He gestured vaguely, a sign of his frustration. “I don’t mean that you should have kissed him. I mean that you should have told him the truth.”

She rolled her eyes. All their conversations led to this one. “Solas, you know I can’t do that.”

“You want to.”

“Of course I do,” she snapped. “I hate lying to you. I hate hiding from you. I’ve hated almost every moment of this lifetime having to hide the truth from you just so that we could,” she struggled to find the words, “die and stay dead.”

“But that won’t happen anymore,” the image promised.

Vir shook her head sadly. “I can’t take that chance. Not without good reason.”

He gaped. “Good reason? He doesn’t love you.”

The words were hardly a revelation, but they still stung. “I know.”

“If he knew, if he remembered, he would love you.”

She wondered how the Solas of her imagination could be so naive. Perhaps he was there to force her to see herself and what she truly hoped for. If that was the case, it was time to face reality. “That’s not how love works. Love exists in the present. It can be felt, it can be shared, but it isn’t earned. It can’t be bought. It is born in moments of unexpected kindness, in unlikely meetings of spirits that find a home in each other. It’s more of a faith than a feeling and it’s more than I could ever understand if I lived another ten thousand years, but this I know: it isn’t memories. Memories are what you hold on to when love is gone."

He stared at her, searching, a dawning realization casting his features in shock. “You don’t love him.”

“Of course I do,” she said as if the words were an accusation. “I love every version of you.”

“But?” he prompted.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. The Fade-rain plastered her hair to her face. Apparently this night was a night of confronting the truth, as if she did not get enough of that from the real Solas. She kept her eyes closed as she spoke. “But the only reason I survived these years was because of you. You were there for me in a way that no other version of you had ever been. You helped me save the Iron Bull and the Chargers. You kept me company at Skyhold when I had to push everyone away. I cherished our time at Wycome.” She smiled remembering their conversations. “Did you know before the attack on the docks in Tevinter, I considered giving up my mission. I thought that maybe I could just stay there with you in our little shop until the end.” She laughed. “I should’ve known that wouldn’t work. It was a selfish fantasy anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she replied, opening her eyes and meeting his. “We saved those children. You saved me more than once, in more than one way. You are the reason I was able to keep going and you are the reason we are all alive now.” She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But now you’re gone and... he’s not you.”

He stared, speechless, but there was truly nothing he could say. She looked down at her hands, the one that only existed in the Fade began to blur. It was then that Solas stepped forward and suddenly the rain splashed against his skin. He took her hand and it stopped fading. She gasped. It felt real, far more than just a memory of him.

“This is the Fade.” He said, reaching out his other hand to touch her cheek. “I can be here for you.”

A thread of warning flashed through her mind, but she quelled her fears. If this was a desire demon, he had been exceptionally patient. Despite that, she leaned into his hand, savoring the moment. He took the invitation and moved closer, leaning down, still cupping her cheek. She steeled herself and pulled away.

“It wouldn’t be right,” she said.

He did not insist. Like the real Solas, he accepted her decisions and respected them. He returned to his transparent state, his hands falling to his sides. It was not enough. What she had fantasized once would happen again. “This,” she said, motioning between the two of them, “isn’t right.”

He looked down at her sadly. “Do you want me to leave?”

It took every bit of will she could muster to answer. “I never want you to leave,” she said, taking a shaky breath, “but maybe you should.”

He bowed his head and she wished with all her heart that just once he would fight to stay. When he looked back up he met her eyes and she knew he would have been proud of her. “Var lath vir suledin,” he said and disappeared.

Vir did not cry. It was just the rain.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the welcome back messages. I wasn't sure if I should try to continue this story. It means a lot to me that you guys are still interested.


	3. There are more things in heaven and earth

The next device was far from any eluvian. The way was heavily patrolled by chevaliers and so Vir had gone by herself. Alone, she could slip past them if she was careful. She had set out three nights ago.

She had been due back that morning, but she said it could take an additional three days to reach her target if weather, landscape, or patrols were uncooperative.

  
Solas did not mind the delay. They had discovered an eluvian, intact but dormant, in a ruin not far from where they had planned to rendezvous. He was spending his time attempting to activate it while Inan stood watch. Abelas and rest of their scouts stayed in the crossroads, searching the area within range.

  
Vir was usually the one who guarded him while he investigated a device. While she offered no help magically, she was a deadly fighter and knew Thedas and its dangers better than any of them.

  
Inan, in contrast, was a brilliant fighter in both arms and magic. She was brave and smart and selfless when set to a task. She was perhaps the best among his people to stand guard for him alone, except for the fact that she kept getting in his way.

  
He attempted to move to the other side of the mirror and nearly tripped over the end of the massive maul Inan carried with her. She picked it up, with apologies and moved closer to the entrance. With a sigh meant to recenter his focus, he peered at the weathered stone engravings at the base of the mirror’s darkened surface. Or he tried to, but Inan with her towering height, blocked all the light from the doorway.

  
He grit his teeth and cast a simple light spell. His temper added more power to it than necessary and it flared to life momentarily blinding him. He grumbled to himself.

“Frustrated?” Inan asked. While he could not see her expression, he could hear the teasing tone of her voice.

“Not at all,” he said, unwilling to allow her to needle him.

“Missing your shadow?” she asked, meaning Vir.

“She at least knew how to stay out of the way,” he muttered, allowing the phrasing of her words to slide.

“Do not worry, Fen’Harel. She will be fine and when she comes back, her time away will make the bedding that much better.”

The light sputtered out. He blinked in the darkness, too shocked to realize it was his own magic that had failed. He brought it back between them to better see her face. She was serious. "What?" was all he could think to say.

"Oh, come now. You question her, she argues with you, one or both of you get irritated. The conversation ends, but you seek your ship or your tent together. Did you think none of us would notice you're sleeping together?"

Solas choked. "Sleeping,” he said emphatically. “Actually sleeping." Now it was Inan's turn to look confused. "We discuss issues of importance in the Fade,” he said spelling it out so that there could be no misunderstanding. “It is the only way I can trust that she speaks the truth."

Inan folded her arms over her chest. "You've been using the Fade to interrogate her?" she asked incredulously. "And she tolerates this?"

"It was part of our agreement," Solas said. "We're not..." he felt his ears turning red as if he were a boy. "There's nothing else going on."

Inan smirked. "But you've thought about it."

"No," Solas said.

"Why not?" Inan asked. "She’s already gotten you into bed. It might as well be the same one." She sighed at his expression. “I’ve seen you two together. She respects you. She enjoys your company. She cares for you.”

"I've no time for your matchmaking, Inan," he replied, "and I am long past the age of wanting a casual relationship.”

“It doesn’t have to be casual,” she coaxed.

“She is mortal. What else could it be?” he said, exasperated.

Inan’s teasing manner vanished, replaced by annoyance, which was good as far as he was concerned. They could both be annoyed. “That does not mean it can’t be real, Fen’Harel,” she admonished.

He sighed and shook his head. “Enough. This is not up for discussion.”

“Fine, if that’s what you want,” she said serenely. “I’ll stop encouraging her to court you.”

First he stared, then he closed his eyes, a headache forming between them. “Please tell me you’re joking,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I think it best that I stand guard outside,” she said changing the subject. She turned to leave.

“Inan,” he said warningly.

“I’ll just let you wonder,” she replied, looking over her shoulder with a hint of malice. “I, for one, won’t be letting you question me in the Fade.”

 

* * *

 

 

The artifact was active. Solas could sense its connection to the other devices. A few more and their work would be done, but Vir had not yet returned. She would be officially late by morning and she had not been in the Fade when he had looked the past three nights.

Solas dreamed. Not his usual passive observation of the Fade. A true dream, neither prompted by the material realm nor requested by his conscious mind. He had gone to sleep with the intent of studying the newly activated device. Which was why he was very surprised to have dreamed of lying in a bed with a woman in his arms.

She was mostly hidden beneath the covers, her head tucked under his chin. Her arm was wrapped around his waist and her leg hooked over one of his. The dream woman stirred. Her hair tickled his chin. She hugged him tighter.

“Solas,” the woman said, sleepily. His name was a soft sigh on her lips, content and comfortable. The voice was unmistakably Vir’s.

He had been searching for her. She had stopped taking the concoctions that had allowed her to avoid him before. But how they ended up in this setting, he did not know and he could not let it continue.

“Vir,” he whispered. He shook her shoulder, but she resisted, burrowing deeper into the blankets. She slipped her hand under his shirt and pressed cold fingers against the small of his back. He squeaked involuntarily.

Torn between laughter and embarrassment, he tried again. “Vir,” he said, louder this time. “Vir, wake up.”

She sighed and tilted her head back, but not far enough to see him. He swallowed. The warmth of her breath against his throat was very pleasant and he was reminded that it had been a long time.

“Vir?” he whispered.

She grumbled, rousing a bit more. “I’m not the one who’s sleeping,” she murmured.

Solas woke.

He sat up and looked at the wall that separated his quarters from Vir’s. The air in the tiny cabin was oppressively warm. He climbed the stairs to the deck and found Vir sitting with a book open on her lap. Her eyes were closed as she sang softly to herself, but it was only a few phrases before she opened them and lifted her pen.

“Solas,” she exclaimed, dropping the implement and splashing spots of ink across her page. She picked it up, but ignored the damage in favor of him. “I apologize, did I wake you?”

For a moment, he was confused about what she was apologizing for. He shook his head. “No, it is I who am sorry. I did not mean to startle you.”

“Not your fault,” she said, blotting the page. “My mind was far away.”

He took a seat along the rail not far from where she sat. “Your mission was successful.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Not yet,” he allowed, “but you were supposed to check in if you ran into delays.”

“I couldn’t,” she said, running her fingers through her hair. “I got caught in a storm earlier, then there were so many patrols I had to move at night and rest only briefly by day.” She frowned. “It was so bad, I sent a message to Leliana. If there’s something causing an increase in security, it may affect our other sites. She’ll send a message to one of our drop points if she knows something.”

He nodded, pleased that she told him without being asked. “That is why you were delayed.”

“Mmm,” she agreed. She rubbed her eyes, looking exhausted.

“You should rest, you look as if you haven’t slept for days.”

“I haven’t,” she admitted, “but I can’t sleep. I took one of my elixirs to get through the last two days. I haven’t fully come down from it yet.”

“I see,” he replied. It was a believable explanation for her absence, but completely eliminated any reason for her presence in his dream. He made no mention of that. “Is that why you’re writing?”

She nodded. “I’m recording all the songs I’ve picked up over the years. So many of them are only sung out loud and never written down.”

“Even the bawdy tavern ones?” he joked, reminding her of the first time he had heard her sing.

She laughed softly. “Those are thoroughly recorded. Brother Genetivi dedicated an entire volume to the tavern songs of Thedas. There’s even a copy at the Royal Library in Orlais.”

He chuckled and stood. “I shall leave you to it. Make sure you get some rest when you can. We will be staying in this area a bit longer.”

She perked up at that. “Have you unlocked the eluvian?”

“Yes,” he said, knowing her love of exploration. “Tomorrow, we will open the portal and see where it leads.” He raised a brow. “When you are recovered enough, you are welcome to join us.”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it,” she started to say enthusiastically, but then was forced to cover an enormous yawn. “Perhaps I will sleep first,” she said ruefully.

He shook his head and went back to his cabin to prepare for the efforts of the next day. His dreams and arms were empty and he could not be certain that he was pleased.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to get the hang of writing again. Updates will be kind of frequent then probably normalize. Thanks for the comments. Do you guys want me to reply to you? I never really got the hang of how I'm supposed to use AO3.


	4. Plural faith which is too much by one

Vir was in the dream of Skyhold, Solas could sense her nearby, but she was not in the rotunda.

“Up here,” Vir called, leaning over the balcony above him.

He climbed the stairs and found her curled up in the nook Dorian had once taken as his own. “She finally sleeps,” he said as a greeting.

“Yes,” she said with a relieved sigh. “I considered asking Inan to knock me unconscious. I asked for a little wine instead.”

Solas raised a brow, knowing her tolerance for alcohol. “A little?”

“More than a little,” she allowed and changed the subject. “Have you opened the eluvian?”

“Yes,” he said, raising a hand to forestall any questions. “It leads to another area of the Crossroads we could not access until now. We had hoped it would be one of the great temples. Those would be the most likely place for us to find the ones still sleeping, but we found some signs of activity. They were old, not ancient, but in the crossroads it is difficult to tell.”

“You should be careful,” Vir cautioned. “The Viddasala’s people had studied countless eluvian to learn their secrets. There’s no telling which ones they managed to open or where they ended up.”

“True and something we had already considered,” he agreed. “Which is why we could use your help.”

“Mine?”

“Some of the signs of activity are in the form of locked gates. We could force them, but we do not know what we might destroy in the process.”

“Thousands of years and none of you ever learned to pick a lock?” she asked.

“Locks are different in the Fade,” he said, solemnly.

She studied his face, saw the joke, and laughed. “Do you really need my help or are you just trying to make me useful?”

He smiled. “There truly are locks, but they are modern in design. Opening them is not as important as identifying their construction.”

“Ahh,” she nodded, understanding. “Well, I’m ready to go when you are.” She straightened in her seat.

“No,” he said, sternly, “you are not. You have only been asleep a few hours. That is not enough time to recover from your ordeal.” She looked as if she were going to argue, he added, “You should take better care of yourself. You are no longer young.”

Most people did not take such reminders well, but Vir only stared at him searchingly before shaking her head in defeat. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ll stay here for a while longer. Just make sure if you do run into another Qunari invasion, you wake me up.”

“I promise I will,” he said.

He had no need to leave at the moment and she did not ask him to, so they sat in comfortable silence. Vir stared out the window. The view was not the Frostbacks, but the darkened Fade that lay beyond what she had crafted of Skyhold from memory. As she sat, lost in thought, she traced the lines of the tattoo that decorated her cheek.

Vir’s knowledge of the elvhen was more accurate than an average Dalish elf and far more accurate than she had led him to believe in the Inquisition, but there were still things that she might not be aware of. Painful as the truth was, she should know it.

“Do you know the meaning behind your vallaslin?” he asked.

She gave him another one of those penetrating looks. “When I was about ten years old,” she began, seemingly ignoring his question. “My mother and I were traveling to my father's clan. I don't think she ever told me the name of it and I never learned it. She was Lavellan and I was the product of an arlathvhen.” She wagged her brows.

“Unintended?” he asked.

She shrugged. “My Keeper said his clan needed a mage. My mother wanted a child and had no interest in any of the eligible men of Lavellan at the time.”

“Your mother was a mage?” he asked, surprised.

“Mmm,” she agreed. “It was why she took ten years to seek my father’s clan. She had not finished training when they met and Keeper Deshanna insisted.”

“Wise of her,” Solas said. “An untrained mage would be of limited help to his clan at best and more likely to be a danger.”

She nodded. “We were attacked by slavers and my mother fought them off, but she was no match for them. She created a circle and told me not to leave it until the light faded. Then she sacrificed herself to protect me.”

“I’m sorry,” Solas said.

Vir smiled briefly, acknowledging the gesture. “They couldn’t get in, but they were led by a mage out of Tevinter. He knew her circle would fade eventually. He was angry that such a prized thing, an elven mage, had slipped through his fingers. He assumed her child would be magical as well, so he set up camp to wait for the light to fade. There I was, kneeling next to my mother’s body in a pool of her blood as the light grew dimmer and the slavers watched and laughed.”

Solas listened in horror. “How did you escape?”

“Pax,” she said. “He was a dwarf who specialized in hunting mages. He had been paid to kill that slaver. Not for what he was doing, but by a magister who just didn’t like him. I didn’t speak Trade and Pax didn’t know any elven.” She chuckled. “My Clan had moved on. I didn't know where they were. I didn't know where my father was supposed to be waiting. He could have just left me there, but instead Pax took me in.”

Solas shook his head in amazement as several seemingly contradictory things about Vir fell into place. “You were raised by a dwarf.”

“From Tevinter,” she added, “but he was operating out of the Free Marches at the time. He had no idea what to do with a child, so he took me in as a servant and then eventually as an apprentice. I think if I had been a different person, he would have made me his partner, but I was far too angry. I would embarrass him in front of clients, insulting humans, and generally being a nuisance. He drew the line when I started robbing and killing the ones I deemed to be enemies of the elves.” She paused giving him a knowing look.

Solas remained silent. He had seen that side of her as well. Without knowing the true source of her anger, her rage seemed misdirected. She shrugged and continued her story.

“When I left Pax, I spent many angry years hunting down slavers in the Free Marches. By pure chance, I saved some members of my clan from an attack. One of them recognized me despite the twenty years that had passed. She brought me back to Lavellan.” She smiled.

“It was hard to live among my own people,” she continued quietly. “They were so close to each other. They called each other friend and meant it. There were no hidden tests behind their questions or motives behind their gifts. It's why I was chosen to go to the Conclave. The others had no experience with the ‘shemlen.’ They'd have gotten in trouble, either by being too trusting or too proud.”

“Hmph,” was all Solas could say about that. They both knew their world would be different if someone else had gone to the Conclave.

“At the time, I thought it was because I wasn't truly part of the clan. An elf with no markings couldn't be Dalish right?” she asked rhetorically and it was only then that Solas remembered his original question. He had been so engrossed in her story. “If I was caught or killed they could pretend they never knew me. Expendable. I said as much to Keeper. I told her that I understood. I told her that I was used to it.”

“What did she say?” he prompted.

“She said I was wrong and as proof, she offered to give me a vallaslin.” She grimaced. “I wasn't going to accept at first, I wasn't raised to have faith in the elvhen gods,” she bowed to him ironically, “and I certainly didn't worship anyone. What marks could she give me that wouldn't be a lie? Then she told me that my mother had been devoted to Mythal.” She tapped the side of her face. “These marks are a small part of _her_ vallaslin. They represent the faith that I am my mother's daughter, I am of Clan Lavellan, I am Dalish, and no one can ever take that from me.”

Solas sat quietly, as their past discussions of elves rearranged themselves into a new configuration. Her ostentatious show of Dalish pride became a symbol of her faith in her people, not ignorance of their past. “I see,” he said finally. “I didn't know that about you.”

“Well, I've never told anyone that story before,” she admitted.

“No one?” he asked. Not even your agent? He did not ask.

“No one,” she said and smiled. “Now, what were you going to tell me they meant?”

He hesitated, trying to find a way for their truths to coexist. “It is as you say,” he said. “A sign of faith.”

“Really?” she asked skeptically. “Is that all?”

“Of course, there were other historical meanings," he amended. "Meanings that have changed over time.”

The corner of her mouth quirked. “Of course,” she acknowledged. “I'd like to hear about them.”

He saw her marks in a new light and wanted to keep it that way for at least a little while. “Perhaps, some other time.”

 

 


	5. What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears

Dirtharevas walked cautiously along the paths of the Fade. The rocks were often slippery and hung above dark and unknown chasms. They shifted at inopportune times, as if they were trying to catch the unwary and feed them to the depths. He waited. He did not need to wait long.

_I'm sorry._ The familiar voice arrived first, followed by what could only be described as a column of smoke.

"Don’t be," Dirtharevas said, reaching out toward the formless apparition. Every time he allowed the spirit to share his body, it took longer for her to recover. "It's not your fault. Are you alright?"

The mist of light shifted, swirling in place, attempting to regain some semblance of shape. _Yes. I am better now._ He thought she was trying to smile. The gaping maw that was nothing more than a hole where most of a head should be was not a smile.

It was nothing he had not expected, but still he searched for signs of corruption. "Perhaps you should not join with me anymore. I don't mind of course," he said quickly when the light of her spirit flickered, "but I would not see you hurt. The material realm is perilous especially now."

_But I need to see._ She protested. _You are my eyes and I am your strength._

He wrung his hands worriedly. It was true that without her presence he was not strong enough to accomplish any of the spells they had studied together. "What about the measurements? I can take measurements and bring them to you here."

She wavered in response, but said nothing.

"Please."

_I'll be more careful._ She insisted. _Perhaps it's the tower. All of Fen'Harel's wards and spells, he's everywhere even when he isn't._

"He upsets you," Dirtharevas observed. "Why? He was always tolerant of spirits. It was his writings that influenced the way I thought of your kind."

_And I am grateful..._ She paused. B _ut there is something wrong with the world now... and he is at the center._

"After effects of the Breach perhaps?"

_No. Yes... I don't know._ She grew more agitated with every word.

Dirtharevas worked to project a calm he did not feel. "We'll be more careful," he agreed. "If we join, we'll only do so outside the tower. It is probably safer anyway. The others wouldn't understand."

_What about the boy?_

"I don't know," he said. "As far as I can tell he's not hiding anything. He'll report my activities to Fen'Harel, but one can hardly argue against my taking measurements. He can stand watch while we work. All we need is some warning and we can take care of any problem we face together. We'll leave as soon as I can arrange things," he concluded.

The spirit caressed his cheek with an immaterial hand and disappeared.

 

* * *

 

After a brief consultation with Garas that Lindel was not party to, Dirtharevas led Lindel to an eluvian close to one of the places he wanted to examine. Garas offered an escort, but Dirtharevas refused. Too many elves would attract attention, but a pair could slip past unnoticed. 

Bishali had not liked it. She tried to insist on coming with them, but Dirtharevas rejected the idea for the same reasons as Garas’s escort. As a member of the council he could overrule her, but they left early without informing anyone just to be sure she could not follow.

It was raining when they reached the edge of the forest, though Lindel felt calling it rain was an understatement. Not more than a mile from their eluvian, a storm moved in and came down without even a flash of lighting for a warning.

Great sheets of water fell from the sky and turned the ground to mud. He had been prepared for rain, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Lindel’s bare feet slipped in the mud, squishing unpleasantly. His simple attire, perfectly suited to light scouting, was not proof against such a high volume of water. The thick coat he wore was only getting heavier without providing any warmth.

Dirtharevas had not been prepared at all. His mage robes were water-logged, the hem dragging dangerously before and behind him. He had already tripped twice and it was only because he leaned heavily on his staff that he had not measured his own length in the mud.   
It was in this miserable condition that they found the crater that had once been the Temple of Ghilanain. It would take an hour to cross to the other side. Small wonder that no one had survived.

“What happened?” Lindel whispered, temporarily distracted from his own misery. He had heard of the event that destroyed the Altar of Creation, but his imagination had not been able to encompass the scale of the event.

“What?” Dirtharevas yelled. He was trying in vain to keep his robes off the ground while balancing against his staff and not managing either very well. “The crater is where I need to take measurements, let’s go.”

“Are you insane?” Lindel yelled back. “We need to find shelter until this storm lets up. If you try to climb down there now, you’ll break your neck.”

Dirtharevas had been muttering to himself since they left the crossroads. Despite his difficulty walking, he did not seemed bothered by the rain itself. He looked up. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbled. He held out his hand as if capturing the droplets then thrust his palm toward the sky. The rain splashed up and out, spreading into a plume far greater than the volume that had been in his hand. It formed a barrier between them and the sky. Another motion toward the ground and it solidified. That the next step that Lindel took was on soil as firm as stone. Within moments they were a lone island of dry air in a sea of falling water.

“Follow me closely,” Dirtharevas ordered, his voice strangely hollow. His eyes darted back and forth, as if searching for something that continually moved just out of sight.

Unnerved, Lindel opened his mouth to say something, but Dirtharevas was already moving and so was his barrier. Lindel could either follow him or drown.


	6. When I waked, I cried to dream again

Solas watched Vir examine the lock. He had used magic to see inside it, had asked the Fade to divulge its history, there was precious little for him to glean from the object, other than that magic was a part of it somehow. He had no idea what Vir gained from smelling it.

“It’s not trapped with poison,” she said, “the mechanisms still smell of oil, which means this is likely not more than a few years old. The make is Tevinter, they have a passive trap. If you dispel the magic the lock seals shut. If you try to force the lock, the magic melts the mechanism and the lock seals shut. I’ve seen these before.” She frowned. “They’re usually attached to shipping crates and safes. What is one doing here on a gate?”

“Perhaps the only way to determine that is to discover what lies beyond,” Solas replied.

She took a breath and got to work on the lock. She extracted a specific tool from her belt, a lockpick covered in blue crystals. Both pick and lock glowed as she worked, but after a moment the heavy gate swung open. It revealed nothing but a stairwell leading downward into darkness.

There were only four of them at this particular gate: Abelas and Inan, Solas and Vir. The other scouts searched nearby for more signs of activity. Vir took point. Solas followed closely behind her. She searched for traps and he for wards. They moved forward cautiously, but the corridor was empty.

Empty in a way Solas found unsettling. Apparently Vir felt it too. “The air’s not stale,” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear. “It looks abandoned, but someone takes care of this place. Magic?”

Solas answered at the same volume. “I sense nothing,” he replied, frowning, though he knew she would not see it.

“I guess it’s not a magister,” she said sounding relieved. “That’s good.”

“Yes and no,” Solas replied. “It is not likely a magister, but this is the crossroads, magic should be everywhere. I do not sense it in the area ahead.”

The tunnel widened into a cavern. Solas conjured a ball of light and sent it ahead. They stood in the dark, watching it illuminate vaguely rectangular shapes in front of them. Containers, placed neatly side by side. Vir moved forward, but he placed his hand on her shoulder. Casting a shield on himself, he moved toward the first box. It was large, it came up to his waist and was almost as long as he was tall. The locks were similar to the one Vir had opened and the box itself was warded, not to defend, but conceal. These wards would render its contents invisible to magic. It would look as if a heavy piece of ordinary stone were shielded and nothing more. He recognized these boxes.

“Vir,” he said, “get this lock open now.”

She heard the urgency in his voice and hastened to do as he asked. She got the lock open, but the crate was still sealed. With a word of command, he tore off the cover, revealing a stone vault. He pushed back the cover. A sleeping child, still alive, lay within.

That was when the guardian struck. His scream was crazed, coming from a ledge somewhere above them. Solas was shoved bodily out of the way, before he realized what was happening. The clash of metal on metal echoed through the cavern.

“Stay away-” the man screamed as Vir cut off his words with a fist full of hilt.

“Light,” Solas warned and poured more power into his conjuring until it lit the entire cavern.

The defender covered his eyes with one arm while still slashing wildly with the other. The sudden surge would have blinded Vir too, but she looked away the moment he called out his warning and adjusted to the new lighting more quickly. She dodged the defender’s blind attacks and circled, trying to see his face.

“Athim?” she asked.

The man froze, still holding his weapon before him. He rubbed his eyes, blinking, trying to see the person behind the voice. “Sa’venin,” he said, when his eyes cleared. He dropped his dagger and lurched in her direction, while she hastily moved her dagger out of the way. His arms encircled her shoulders. “I knew you would come,” he whispered and pressed a kiss solidly against her lips. “We saved them,” he said again. Then his eyes rolled back and he fainted.

Vir had not reacted to the kiss, but his sudden collapse forced her into action. She caught him and managed to lower him to the ground. She felt his neck and put her ear next to his mouth. “Still breathing,” she reported, looking up. “But I think he’s going to need a healer.”

Solas nodded, wrenching his eyes away from them to survey the rest of the cave. Row upon row of crates lined the cavern, enough to fill the cargo hold of a large ship. Movement in the back of the cave showed they were not alone. There were others, not asleep, that had hidden on the far side of the cave when they detected the intrusion. He recognized some of them: elvhen unwilling or unable to fight. They had been tasked with minding the children while they slept.

The children who had died when the Inquisition attacked their ship.

Vir stood beside the unconscious defender. She surveyed the room with shining eyes and a faint smile, but when she noticed his attention the smile faded. “Solas,” she began.

He shook his head, compressing his lips. “Later,” he said. “He needs help and so do the rest. We need to take the children to a more secure location.” He expanded his gaze to include Inan and Abelas. The pair were holding hands tightly. Inan blinked back tears and Abelas did not bother to try. “You three, find the others and bring them here. I will see what else needs to be done.”

Vir turned and left without a backward glance. She was gone before Inan and Abelas even registered what he had said. They stared at the empty place where she had been. They looked at each other then back at him.

These were his friends or the nearest he had among his own kind, but he had taken the mantle of leadership. He would lead. “We must remain cautious. Be alert when you inform the others. Do not attract attention that you might bring back here.”

They bowed and turned as one to retrace their path to the surface.

Solas knelt beside the unconscious man that Vir had called “Athim.” In full light, Solas recognized him as well. Athim was one of his agents from Skyhold. A little magic told him that his injuries were not serious, but he was exhausted and Vir had lightly fractured his jaw.

“Is he going to be alright?” one of the elders asked, she was the only one who approached him.

“Yes,” Solas answered without looking up.

“Good,” she said, sighing with relief. “He saved us, then spent himself to keep us alive and fed.” She chuckled. “He had barely enough magic to help us escape, but he managed. I hope that shemlen you brought with you did not harm him.”

Solas bit back a rebuke. “He seemed to know her,” he said instead.

The woman cackled. “He’s delirious.”

“She knew his name,” Solas said, sending healing to his jaw where it had begun to swell, the results of Vir’s punch.

“Is her name ‘Sa’venin’?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted.

She snorted contemptuously. “Sa’venin is his love. He has spoken only of survival and seeing her again. It was she that gave him the warning that the attack was coming. She could not save us herself, so she called on him. To hear him describe her, she is a being of unsurpassed beauty. Golden eyes, bronze skin, a face of carved perfection, not that scrawny, damaged, shemlen that tried to kill him.”

“She is helping us and was protecting me,” he said forcefully, turning to glare at the woman. Perhaps he was too forceful. She shrank back at whatever she saw on his face and fell silent. He exhaled. “How did you end up here?”

“It is a long story,” she said recovering her composure, but none of her confidence. “May I ask your name?”

“Apologies,” Solas said. “I am Fen’Harel.”

She gasped and knelt. “My lord, I apologize.”

He sighed internally. “Please, we are equals here,” he reminded her gently.

She nodded, rising with a little difficulty. “Yes, my... thank you, Fen’Harel. I am Nallin, thank you for coming to rescue us,” she said as she backed away. “I will bring the others, they will be overjoyed to leave this place.”

“Yes, of course. This is cause for celebration,” he said, but he knew he did not sound like a man celebrating.

 

* * *

 

Vir stayed in the shadows, watching, when she returned with some of Abelas's scouts. There was little she could do to help and a good deal about her presence that would be a hindrance. The children’s caretakers eyed her suspiciously or contemptuously. Everyone else was far too happy to even notice and she would not wish to mar that with her presence. Eventually she went back outside to guard the gate from whatever it was that had scared Athim into installing it. Solas found her a few hours later.

It was clear from the way they stared at each other, the way each would begin to begin to speak then stopped, both had much to say and no idea where to begin.

“Is Athim your agent?” Solas asked.

Of all the questions he could ask, that was the last one she expected. She burst into giggles.

Solas did not join her nor did he take her reaction as an answer. He simply waited.

She brought herself back under control and fixed him with a pointed look. “If my hope were here, I would be with him.”

Solas shook his head as if he should have known. Whether he was disappointed or relieved, Vir could not tell. “Of course,” he said and sat down on the other side of the gate facing her. “But he was not mistaken. He thinks your name is Sa’venin because that’s what you told him it was.”

She nodded.

“And you are the one who warned him of the attack. You told him how to save them.” The words were spoken as an accusation, his fists clenched and unclenched as did his jaw.

She nodded again and looked at her hand. “Solas, I know you’re upset. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I knew they might be alive, but I didn’t know where there were.”

“That’s not why I’m upset,” he snapped.

She looked up, brows furrowing. “It’s not?”

“All this time,” he said, exasperated, “I thought you were the one who ordered an attack targeting our children. I hated you. You represented everything I wanted to wipe from this world and I... I tried. I sent assassins to kill you. I made it clear to everyone that you were the enemy. I made your crimes against us known. Lindel, Inan, everyone who didn’t trust you and tried to kill you. I made them want to... and I was wrong.” He put his head in hands. Pain, guilt, anger, and frustration in every line of his posture.

“Oh,” Vir said, understanding.

“Is that all you can say? ‘Oh’?” he asked.

“Oh, we’re here _again_. If only you knew the truth,” she said sarcastically, “things would have been different.”

“This isn’t funny, Vir,” he said through clenched teeth. “So many lives were lost, because of us. Because of me.”

Vir sighed, got up, and knelt at his feet. She peered between his hands. “Solas, look at me,” she said, but his eyes were squeezed shut. “I did order the attack,” she said and waited.

His eyes opened slowly. He still did not look at her, but he listened.

“I knew you were looking for magic. Artifacts, eluvians, you needed more power to tear down the Veil. Power equal to what you lost with your orb. That’s why, I destroyed so many ruins and managed to counter so many of your missions. You thought I was chasing you, but really we were both chasing the same thing.”

His hands lowered, he stared in disbelief.

“You called your children antiquities, a code word that made sense if you thought I was targeting people. I had planned to have the Qunari attack the ship, thinking I was sinking a bunch of relics.”

“Then why did you...” he began, his voice trailing off.

“Save them?” She licked her lips, remembering the moment she crossed the last remaining line she had drawn. “I was told the truth. It was too late to find another target. I still needed my Qunari allies, so I ordered the attack anyway and yes, that is every bit as bad as it sounds.” She stood and moved back to her seat, resting her elbows on her knees. “I couldn’t save them myself, but I traveled with Athim when I left Skyhold. I told him my name was Sa’venin. He thought I was one of your agents. I used him then to cover my exit. I used him again to save the children.”

“I didn’t know,” Solas said. “I thought the worst of you...”

“I am what you thought: a liar, a thief, a murderer. I use everyone and everything without hesitation if I feel I must. It’s just that I’m also more than that and you didn’t know. Perhaps I should have helped you see sooner, but I know you have done your best to do what’s right with what you believed. If your opinion of me is going to change, it should only be to know that I was trying to do my best too.”

He looked away, but she did not miss the tears that rolled down his cheeks and it took every effort for her not to go to him then. He brushed at his face with his sleeve.

“You’re being kinder to me than I would have been to you if our situations were reversed,” he noted.

It was not a question, but it was also not a compliment. He wanted reasons. She could give him one.

“I’m trying to soften you up because I need a favor.”

A cynical laugh forced its way out of his chest and he stared at the sky with the air of a man who could not believe that he was right. “Ask,” he said.

“You saw how your people look at me. My kind.”

He felt the need to defend them, despite his own distaste for their attitudes. “They don’t know you. To them you are an outsider.”

“I would think they’d feel considerably worse about me if they knew me,” she reminded him.

He had no response for that.

“The Dalish are waiting for the evanuris to return,” she continued. “From what you’ve told me, that would not be a good thing.”

“No,” he replied.

“But we can’t move on from what we are while we wait for something that will never come. Every year, humans destroy more clans. Whether by malice or misunderstanding matters little. We’re dying out there. The elves in the cities have it little better. They are taught to hate themselves and even the ones who are not slaves are slaves to the idea that they are lesser.” She raised a brow.

His eyes narrowed, but he waited for her request.

“I want a place for my people in the Fade after you cast the spell.”

He looked surprised, but only for only a moment. He mulled over the idea, but it was obviously one he had already considered. “It is unlikely your people would regain their immortality,” he warned.

She shrugged. “If we have the opportunity to learn about our history, if we look to the future without being bound by the lies of our past, if we regain our freedom, then we will have regained ourselves if only for a short time.

He listened, weighing her words for truth and sense and found both. “I do not dictate to the Council.” He raised his hand before she could argue.

“But I will represent your people to them. They will have a place in the Fade, though it will take time.”

Indescribable relief and joy swelled inside her chest, but Vir could not express it without horrifying her benefactor. Instead she tried not to let her smile split open her face. “Thank you,” she said, earnestly. “Saying 'thank you' hardly seems enough.”

Solas seemed amused by her reaction. “Perhaps it isn’t,” he said, solemnly. “I still have questions about what happened, they might be considered... digging.”

She laughed. “How mercenary,” she said, “I think I’m becoming a bad influence.”

His lips curved slightly, but then he grew serious again. “Who told you the truth about the children,” he asked.

“My agent.”

He nodded as if he expected that. “Your ‘Hope.’”

“Yes.”

He seemed incredulous. “And he just let you send the order to attack?”

She smiled tightly. “No one _lets_ me do anything.”

He scowled. “So he watched you order the children to their deaths with only a small chance of survival. He stayed with you even after that?”

“No,” she answered. “My Hope did not stay. I knew he wouldn’t.”

The scowl vanished. “Oh,” he said.

“It’s complicated,” Vir said with a sad smile. “Very very complicated.”

He did not respond to that, but she did not expect him to. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “How did you contact Athim?”

“He gave me a communication crystal in case I ran into trouble. We were all fortunate that he did. Except maybe him.”

He did not even try to contradict her. “Indeed.”

She winced. “Is he awake?”

“Yes,” Solas replied. “He was asking for you. I told him that I’d look for you.” He hesitated, looking concerned, likely for both of them. “He’s in love with you, you know. In love with ‘Sa’venin.’”

“Well of course,” Vir said, motioning at herself. “Look at me.”

He raised a brow again, then looked.

She made a face, hoping he would not notice her blush. “I don’t know how that happened. I only knew him for a few days and I wouldn’t have let anyone get close to me or they’d have seen my prosthetic hand or the cosmetics covering my vallaslin.”

Solas nodded, he had probably wondered how anyone could have missed those details.

“Well,” she said and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s time to tell the hero of the hour that his love is an illusion; he was used by the enemy; and he suffered for years for no reason.”

She turned toward the stairway. Despite the light outside and the additional lanterns in the cave, the stairs were still pitch black.

“One more question,” Solas said, stopping her. “Why do you call your agent your Hope? He was also your love, was he not?”

Vir shrugged to cover her surprise, but she answered honestly. “I have had many loves in my life, but only two people have ever truly given me hope.”

“Two?”

She gave him a small smile, her gaze flicking to his then away. “Only one of them was mine,” she said and fled into the darkness.

 


	7. Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy

It took more than an hour to get to the bottom of the crater. Any natural footpath had disintegrated in the rain and it was only Dirtharevas’s magic that kept them walking and not sliding. It was dark by the time they reached the bottom and though the rain had stopped, Lindel had worried that the crater would turn out to be a lake. Fortunately, the water drained off somewhere and the ground at the bottom was muddy, but relatively solid.

As soon as the path leveled out, Dirtharevas began a complicated ritual involving magics Lindel could only sense distantly. The mage had been muttering to himself on the way down and gave no instruction before or after their descent. Lindel had accompanied him for the purpose of observing and mapping the surrounding area. He would do that at first light, but until he could see, there was little to do but wait.

The Inquisitor would chide him for such an open and unprotected position, no route for escape and no cover. It was too late to do anything about it now. Dirtharevas was deep within his meditations. He could not leave without the mage’s help and he would not abandon his duty even if he could.

He sighed and found a flat area of stone relatively free of mud. In the dim light, it looked paler and smoother than the other surrounding rock. He guessed it must have been a part of the temple.

An entire temple that had stood thousands of years, gone in a single moment. The Inquisitor’s work.

Lindel set the thought aside for later. His night vision was never good and he strained to see past the glow of Dirtharevas’ magic. A few times he thought he heard something, but it was only the vague muttering of the entranced mage.

Despite his best efforts, Lindel felt himself falling asleep. He set wards to alert him if someone approached the crater. They were all he could manage, but at least they were too weak to disturb the stronger mage’s work.

His eyes closed and his mind slipped past the Veil. This was not a good place to rest. The Fade here was twisted and dark. The spirits that remained were frightened and angry. They whispered of the event that sundered their home. Against his own judgment, he allowed them to show him.

The humans fled at their commander’s call for retreat. They were well trained and well armed, fighting as they ran, but Fen’Harel’s forces were too fast and cunning for a clean escape. They were only halfway to the forest when the elvhen scouts reached the altar.

The memory shifted to a lone elf, a mortal, with the bastardized patterns of Ghilan’nain carved into his skin. He waited beside the raised altar, stepping forward as the scouts came into view. The sight of an elf gave them pause. Just below him a massive shard of lyrium jutted from the floor, wickedly sharp and bound in silver wires.

One of the scouts let fly an arrow. The shot was true, but the elf only laughed and Lindel knew that madness had already taken him. “The Banal’ras sends her regards, Falon Fen,” he spat with red tinged lips. He stepped forward holding his arms straight out to either side. “Na din’an sahlin!” he screamed.

There was nothing after that to witness. No spirit who stayed beyond that point survived. Lindel watched in horror as the visions of what happened played out again and again from a dozen perspectives. Then a ward woke him.

He blinked to find daylight approaching. The sky had turned red with the rising sun. He stood and hurried to Dirtharevas to find him still mumbling, but no longer glowing with power.

He risked another small spell, far seeing in the direction of the triggered ward. His heart sank as he saw several armored humans making their way to the crater. Most he recognized as Emperor Gaspard’s chevaliers, but several of them wore tabards he had seen only in drawings: the symbol of the Templar Order.

They needed to leave.

Lindel broke from his spell focusing on Dirtharevas again. Trance or no, he would have to leave his spell unfinished. Lindel shook his shoulder.

“Wake up, we need to leave. There are people coming.”

Dirtharevas gained a bit more consciousness, enough to glare at him and snap, “Can’t you deal with them?”

“Too many. We have to go, right now.”

“But I’m close! I saw the field of mirrors. It is Fen’Harel’s secret, the source of this corruption.”

“What are you talking about?” Lindel whispered, shaking him again. “Nevermind, tell me later. We have to go.” He began to pull the mage to his feet, but the man resisted.

“No, I must see. I MUST SEE.” Dirtharevas began to yell.

Lindel heard shouts above them and the sound of rocks tumbling as the party of humans hurried their steps into the crater.

“I will take care of these mortals,” Dirtharevas said, his body twisting strangely as he stood. “Then I will take care of Fen’Harel.” His face contorted and he shook his head. “No, don’t,” he said.

Lindel backed up a pace.

“Please, you mustn’t,” Dirtharevas begged the air. His voice changed. “We can take them, together,” he rasped.

Lindel did not have time to think about or understand what the mage had done. He did know if they tried to fight the approaching force, they would both be killed.

Lindel tried again, pleading. “Dirtharevas, they’re Templars, they can counter your magic. Please, we should run.”

“Lindel?” he said, shuddering. “I’m so sorry. I can’t stop her...” His face changed again. “Stand aside boy,” he hissed. “What... Why are you making that face?”

Lindel winced just before his fist connected. Dirtharevas fell to the ground, knocked out cold.

 

* * *

  
Solas woke in Vir’s quarters on board their aravel. For a panicked moment, he could not remember why he was there. Vir was asleep on his left, facing the wall. Then he remembered, his panic eased, but his discomfort remained.

It was cramped and a bit too warm, but not nearly as cramped as the other aravels. The rest were being used to transport the children to a safe place where they would await the preparation of their new home. There was little room to spare with all the sleeping children and their minders. They were a priority, but so was the mission. After a brief discussion, they agreed to split up.

Abelas and Inan moved onto his ship. With he and Vir, the four of them would activate the rest of the devices while the others returned to the tower. Any additional exploration of the crossroads could wait.

He remembered the smug look on Inan’s face as she moved into the larger cabin with Abelas. “Sweet dreams,” she had said, glancing significantly at Vir’s quarters where her friend was already asleep.

Before finding her bed, Vir had offered to sleep on the deck. Solas had already been ready to lash out at the next person that implied that Vir was a servant. He would not treat her as one. He had told her to go in. After all, it should be no different than sharing the tent. Unfortunately, that was not true.

He kept having the dreams. The dreams where she lay in his arms and he slept with a smile on his lips. The dreams where she entered the rotunda and greeted him with a kiss. The dreams where they lay side by side in a field somewhere beautiful and picked out shapes in the clouds. These dreams were not like the first. In these he was a witness not a participant. He watched himself fall in love with the Inquisitor, then he watched himself kill her. Each time he experienced such strength of emotions, of love and remorse so powerful he thought his heart would break. Then he would wake and though the images were gone, some of the feelings remained. It was enough to make him want to drink tea.

“Something wrong?” Vir asked.

He thought of deflecting or denying, but it would change little. “My dreams have been troubling,” he said.

She rolled onto her back, shifting about until they were shoulder to shoulder. Her hand rested across her stomach. “Would you like to talk about it?” she offered.

“I suppose I keep thinking about what you said earlier. About my dwelling on how things would be different if I had known you better during my time in the Inquisition.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Any conclusions?”

“We could have been friends, a lot of misery could have been avoided, but it would have ended in your death.” He decided to skip the part where they were lovers. That would be awkward.

“Sounds about right,” she said.

“There’s nothing right about that.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she chuckled. “Not many do.”

“Did your conversation with Athim go that well?” he asked, changing the subject.

“What?” she said, surprised. “No, actually it didn’t and I meant to ask you, did you drug him?”

“No. Why?”

“He’s too good for me.”

“Well,” he said, “that’s not difficult.”

She laughed. “He apologized to me.”

“What for?” he asked incredulously.

“That was my reaction,” she said. “He said kissing me was presumptuous. He knew he had no call to do so. Then he thanked me for helping to save the children.”

“Did you tell him you ordered the attack?”

“Yes,” she said. “I told him I was the Inquisitor. I told him I ordered the attack. I told him everything.”

“And what did he say?”

“He apologized again.”

He stared at the side of her face. She turned her head toward him. Even in the low light, he could see her disbelief mirroring his own.

“For spying on me,” she added.

Solas returned his gaze to the ceiling. “He was a terrible spy,” he said.

“He was yours.” She chuckled. “Lindel, Athim, half the elves at Skyhold, what were you thinking sending these lambs into the wolves den?”

“You fancy yourself a wolf?” he asked.

“A figure of speech,” she replied, “don’t change the subject.”

He sighed. “I underestimated you, but even when I sent my best, they fared no better.”

“Your assassins were good. They fought well.”

“I sent them for nothing. They died for nothing.”

“If it makes you feel better, one of them managed to destroy my favorite arm.”

“Why would that make me feel better?” he asked, annoyed.

She shrugged, a movement he detected as her shoulder moving against his. “Does it?”

He considered it, still disturbed by his dreams, still angry at himself for his blindness, still wary of all the layers upon layers of secrets that remained. “A little,” he admitted.

She chuckled. “Good,” she said.

He closed his eyes, feeling himself begin to relax.

“Vir?” he asked.

“Mmm?” she said, proving she was falling asleep as well.

“Why ‘Sa’venin’?” The name roughly translated to ‘the one wish.’ It was not common among Dalish or elvhen.

“I don’t know,” she answered, rolling back onto her side to face the wall. “You’d have to ask my mother.”*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Vir is her name. Sa'venin is the name her mother gave her. She chose her name after her mother's death.


	8. O, what may man within him hide

It took most of his concentration for Lindel to hold the two illusions at once. One of he and Dirtharevas arguing and the other to camouflage their true movements. It took all of his strength to carry the unconscious mage out.

He managed to get out of the crater and into the forest before the Templars reached the illusion at the bottom. His back ached, his legs burned, and he could no longer feel the arm and shoulder that held Dirtharevas in place.  
  
Lindel was in better condition than he had been before he met the Inquisitor, less clumsy too, but none of that would matter if they could not reach their eluvian and open it to return to the crossroads. He could not make it that far with Dirtharevas still unconscious, nor could he open the eluvian without the stronger mage's help. He looked for the best cover in the vicinity and stumbled with the mage into the brush.

“Dirtharevas,” he whispered urgently. He shook the mage’s shoulder and lightly slapped his face. The punch the Inquisitor had taught him was not supposed to render a person unconscious for very long. Dirtharevas had been out for longer than he should, but something else had happened even before Lindel subdued him.

The man began to wake. His body jerking as if his left and right battled each other for dominance. When his eyes opened, he focused immediately on Lindel. His hand shot out and clamped around the younger man's throat.

“What are we doing here,” he hissed. “We need to go back. _I need to see._ ”

Lindel could neither breathe nor answer. He grabbed Dirtharevas’s thumb and bent it back until he heard it pop. The mage did not even react to the pain, but could no longer grip with a dislocated joint.

Dirtharevas was no longer himself. Lindel had never seen a demon posses an elf, but it was clear the spirit was corrupted. However it came to share Dirtharevas’s body, it was now in control.

It looked at its injured hand then back at Lindel. “Pah, foolish boy. I don’t need you.” It pushed him aside and stood, orienting itself in the direction of the crater. Lindel lunged trying to tackle it, but he missed and fell back into cover.

The demon moved faster than Dirtharevas would have been able to alone and was halfway back to the crater before Lindel could struggle to his knees. He was about to chase the possessed mage, but another group of armored men came into view.

The soldiers had split up. Half the group had gone back up and circled around the crater. Probably thinking to flank the mages that they thought were at the bottom. Instead, they ran directly into Dirtharevas trying to get back down.

Lindel could not move, could not speak, fear kept him frozen in place. The armored men shouted something in Orlesian, but Dirtharevas ignored them and their warnings. Finally, one of them grasped his sword with both hands, point down, and thrust it into the earth. The effect was unlike anything Lindel had ever experienced. He could only compare it to the way a fish might feel on land. The effect on Dirtharevas, however, was quite the opposite.

Rage transformed him. Fire lashed out from his fingers. The fury of the attack caught the Templars off guard, but only briefly. The lead, who carried a shield nearly as broad and tall as he, rushed forward. His charge should have knocked Dirtharevas off his feet, but possessed, it only managed to temporarily halt his attack.

The others joined the first in staking their weapons into the soil. Light, Lindel had not noticed the first time, traveled from their swords into the ground. It formed a circle, then a half sphere, the bubble of light expanded to encompass the mage while the other soldier kept his attention.

Then it was over. The sphere drove the possessing force from Dirtharevas’s body. Without it, the effects of the fight overcame him and he collapsed.

Lindel could only watch as they regrouped with the rest of the soldiers and carried Dirtharevas away.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Inan said, as she watched Vir climb down from a massive pine tree, “let me see if I understand this correctly. The current leader of the human religion is an assassin.”

“An Orlesian Bard if you want to be specific,” Vir said, as she swung to the lowest branch and dropped the last few feet.

“What’s the difference?”

Vir dusted her hand on her leather breeches and shrugged. “Bards know which fork to use.”

“The shems use more than one?” Inan considered the idea a moment before shaking her head and returning to the original line of questioning. “And you are going to communicate with her by putting a mirror on top of a tree?”

“Yes, it’s our very secret signal. Don’t tell Fen’Harel.” Vir touched her finger to her lips and led them back to the trail.

“I did not hear anything,” Solas said.

“How did you manage to match us?” Inan asked. “I mean, you can't use magic, you work alone, your network of communication is primitive...” Her tone was light, but she looked to Vir for an answer.

“Charisma,” Vir said.

Solas snorted, but made no comment.

Inan rolled her eyes. “Speaking of which, how about Athim? He’s quite taken with you.”

“Inan, no,” Vir said. She turned her head to glare at the two men to head off any comments. Solas and Abelas were only able to hold back their laughter due to centuries of practice at looking grim.

Inan ignored her protest. “I spoke to him before he went back with the others. He understands why you did what you did. He finds you attractive. I think you’re his type.”

“If his type is someone who’s an asshole that used him and lies to everyone, he needs to find a better type,” Vir muttered as she began wrapping a strip of leather around her climbing prosthetic.

“Well, stop being an asshole and lying to everyone,” Inan said, exasperated.

Solas choked and Vir glanced behind her again. He seemed excessively pleased to not be the target of Inan’s teasing.

“I must agree with Inan on this one,” he said, looking innocent. “Stop being an asshole.”

“Thanks,” Vir said dryly.

“And lying,” he added.

“Got it,” she said and lapsed into silence.

Inan continued proposing Athim and various scouts as candidates for Vir’s attentions, but was no longer able to provoke a response.

“Are you not speaking to me now?” Inan said, pouting.

“You said to stop lying and stop being an asshole,” Vir said. “I don’t have any other forms of communication.”

“You could tie a mirror to the top of a tree,” Inan suggested.

Vir laughed in spite of her annoyance.

“Did you notice that there’s a bird following us?” Abelas asked.

Vir had only just finished wrapping her prosthetic. The hooked and pointed end was now completely covered in leather. She held out her arm and the raven that had been following them landed on the makeshift perch.

“Baron,” Vir said. “I didn’t expect you to come.” She offered him a bit of meat which he accepted delicately and allowed her to remove the message tied to his leg. “Stick around won’t you?” she said before giving him a bit of a launch. He took to the air, finding a branch not far from them, but not directly overhead.

Abelas watched it go. “I’m just glad it’s not the witch,” he muttered.

Vir smiled as she unrolled the message, finding the idea of Morrigan as a simple messenger highly amusing. The smile faded from Vir’s face and she looked up only after reading it several times. She met three sets of curious eyes.

“Did you send mages to southern Orlais?” she asked Solas. “It seems the increase in patrols I experienced was due to a warning that there would be elvhen activity.”

“No one recently,” Solas answered. He paused significantly. “There’s nothing there anymore.”

“True,” Vir said, still disturbed. “Could someone have warned them that I would be there?”

“Not among my scouts,” Abelas said forcefully.

Solas put his hand on his shoulder. “The scouts never left the Crossroads while you were gone. No one outside our group knew where we were going. In any case, we have been gone for months and our path has deviated greatly from the one we initially set. It seems unlikely that any patrol was searching for you.”

Vir frowned at the message, but it did not divulge any additional information. “Ok. Good,” she said, stowing the message in her belt pouch. “According to Leliana, they found a mage near the crater. It required several Templars to subdue him. They wanted to know if he belonged to the Inquisition before they start questioning him.” She did not need to detail the Templar methods of interrogation or how the Chevaliers treated elves.

She took out her writing tools and frowned in concentration as she composed her message. “I’ll have Leliana send a message to the clans, just to be sure.” She chewed her lip. “If he’s not mine or yours, we can’t spare the resources to claim him.” She held out her arm again and the bird came down to accept the message and another bit of meat as payment.

“Agreed,” Solas said, but it was clear he did not like the decision either.

As Vir sent the raven away, a pall fell over the group. They continued their journey, each wondering at the mystery elf they had condemned to his fate.

 


	9. So foul a sky clears not without a storm

Solas was irritated. The dreams kept coming, each one slightly different. Some did not even involve him. It did not take long for him to realize that he was not the source of the dreams and neither was Vir. He began to dismiss them as soon as they began, sometimes quite forcefully. Each time, he searched for a spirit or dreamer powerful enough to reach him. Each time, he found nothing.

Today she sat on the edge of her bed in her quarters at Skyhold. He began to dismiss the dream again, but this time she was singing and playing ‘Ame Amin’ on her lute. She sang as if she sang for someone else. She sang with her heart. He could not help but listen.

Then the mark erupted in magic and green fire. She screamed and suddenly they were in the Crossroads. Qunari rendered to stone were scattered around them. Vir was on her knees, fighting in vain against the mark which had begun to expand beyond her control. An image of him watched her struggle impassively, except for the hint of satisfaction curving his lips.

This he remembered. He knew the hatred he felt at that moment. He watched as he grabbed her hand and removed the mark in one brisk motion. He turned away, coldly advising her to live well before disappearing into another gate.

Vir did not move for some time. Her arm continued to burn as the remnant energy from the mark licked away her flesh. She ignored it. She opened her other hand revealing a blade the length of her palm. The edge and point were coated in something sticky and green, the hilt of it glowed blue.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t do it.”

Solas woke.

He glanced to his left, but he was alone. He rubbed his eyes and stood, joints stiff and muscles tense. He was throughly tired of thin bedrolls. He went up to the deck expecting to find Vir writing or watching the landscape. She was there, but balancing one-handed, upside-down on the railing. Her eyes were closed, almost as if in meditation.

Solas froze. He did not wish to startle her, but he could not leave her in such a precarious pose. She solved his indecision for him.

Her eyes opened. “Good morning, Solas. Sleep well?”

He sighed. “No and please stop doing that.”

She smiled, but complied. She folded in half, perfectly steady, lowering her feet onto the railing. Then she somersaulted backward landing lightly on the deck. She turned toward him, uncommonly cheerful, and smiled again.

He shook his head and chuckled with reluctant admiration. “I see you’re in a good mood.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? We activated the last device without incident.”

“There were undead,” he objected.

She waved her hand. “Not unexpected and only a few,” she said and continued. “You said that only three anchors are needed for the spell, their positions are logical, accessible, and far from human settlements.” She waited for him to object.

“True,” he said reluctantly. He had wasted no time making his calculations once the last device started working. He was surprised to find that the strongest anchor points were close to active eluvian.

“I haven’t killed anyone for the entire mission,” she crowed happily.

“I suppose, for some people, that is an accomplishment,” he said, but the thought pleased him as well.

“Yes,” she said, then her face fell. “Something’s going to go wrong isn’t it?”

He winced guiltily, but he would not lie even to reassure her. “Something usually does, but that does not mean we should not celebrate our victories when we have them.”

She sighed and walked to the bow of the ship. “I’ve had few victories that I actually wanted to celebrate. I know these are not the most comfortable conditions for you and I’m not the company you would have chosen, but I’m glad you let me come along.”

He joined her, remembering the first time she saw the aravellathan and the look on her face when they took to the air. Their relationship had taken many turns in the months they had spent together. “I would not have chosen you to come if I had another option,” he admitted, “but I too am glad you came along.”

Her smile returned, but it was mixed with sadness and something he could not identify. “Something’s going to go wrong there too.”

He chuckled, but he could not forget the dreams where their friendship ended in her death. “How grim, I think I’m becoming a bad influence,” he said echoing her past words.

She did not reply. Instead they stood side by side and watched the floating islands pass as they sailed toward home.

 

* * *

 

Athim was a hero. Everyone kept telling him so, but he just felt like a fool.

He did not know he had fallen in love with the Inquisitor, nor did he realize that his infatuation was completely one-sided. He thought there had been something between them when they traveled together out of Skyhold. He would tell her about his team of agents, their locations, and duties. All commonplace, low risk and unimportant, but she would listen with rapt interest. Then she would smile, not at him, but slightly away. He thought she was trying to veil her interest. That smile and her eyes had shone with something he knew was love. He would have staked his life on it. He did.

Now, he knew that whoever she had smiled for, it was not him.

He was not angry at the Inquisitor for what she had done. Posted near Kirkwall, he had heard about the Inquisitor's clan and the advancements she had made for all elves in Wycome. He had friends among the Dalish and city elves and had agonized over his secret duties that would ultimately lead to their destruction. According to the elves at the tower, the Inquisitor had found a new solution that would save them all, confirming what she had told him when she confessed who she really was.

Strangely, most of the elves here either feared or loathed her, and still blamed her for the attack. He wanted to change that. He made sure that anyone who called him a hero also knew that the Inquisitor was the reason the children survived. It did not help his heart much, but he felt less like a fool. 

 

* * *

 

Bishali was angry. She understood why everyone in the tower was so elated, but they had become insensible. So the children had been found and rescued, wonderful, but what about everything else?

Lindel was missing. He was missing. He and Dirtharevas had left without telling anyone where they were going. Their supplies would have ran out days ago and still they had not returned. The members of the Council dismissed her. The returned scouts were perpetually drunk on success and celebratory wine. Even Card had told her to calm down.

“Shali, you’re not his mother,” he had said. “Lindel’s been sheltered his whole life. Let him live a little.”

“Yes, sheltered for thousands of years. He’s never been on his own before.”

“He’s not on his own,” Card reminded her. “Dirtharevas is with him.”

“And you trust him?”

“As much as I trust, Fen’Harel,” he said reasonably. “More than I trust the Inquisitor.”

Bishali stamped her foot, feeling like a child throwing a tantrum. “This is her fault, teaching him to fight. She doesn’t understand what he is.”

“He's an attendant who used to make maps,” Card said.

“And when he finishes his training he’ll be a Living Historian.”

Card sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s a new world now, Shali. There might not be anyone left to train him. We might not even have those anymore.”

“That’s not the point. He’s sensitive. He remembers everything, every taste, smell, and emotion. If something happens to him, it could destroy him.”

“Aren’t you overreacting, vhenan?” Card asked.

She folded her arms and only stared back angrily.

He sighed. “Remember when the Inquisitor knocked him out?”

“Of course, he’d never been hit before.”

“Yes, he kept telling me about the pain of the impact. The fear that he was certain to die. The rush of the floor meeting his face.” He shrugged helplessly. “What it smelled like to lose consciousness.”

“You see? That’s what I mean.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “He found it fascinating.” He kissed her forehead. “You cannot shelter him forever. You would be less than a friend if you tried.”

“I’m not trying to shelter him,” Bishali said, grasping his tunic and tugging it for emphasis. “Something is wrong and we need to find him. _You_ would be less than a friend if you at least didn’t try to make sure he’s ok.”

Card could not win this argument nor could he avoid this argument. Lindel’s presence was the only thing that ever kept them from arguing. “Alright. Give it a few days.” He raised his hand before she could object. “Fen’Harel sent word that they are returning soon. If Lindel is in trouble, we will need more resources to save our friend than just we two. If he’s not, he’ll likely be back with stories to tell in excruciating detail.”

It was her turn to sigh. He was infuriating, but right.

“Two days,” she said. “If they’re not back, I’m going myself.”

 

* * *

 

Lindel was hungry. He had never been hungry before. Certainly he had thought that the mild ache one felt between meals was hunger, but no, this was hunger. He had run out of rations more than a day ago, even after eating Dirtharevas’s unused share. It was the same kind of ration the Inquisitor had eaten when she first arrived. It was disgusting. He would have beaten someone with it too, if they had tried to force it on him. At least, that was before he knew hunger. Now, he would have gladly eaten two portions.

He was also tired, but he could not risk falling asleep here. He had used a combination of illusion to mask his presence and farsight to follow the Templar to their base. With both, he had been able to keep a safe distance, but it had drained him. Now he could only watch as a terrifying number of soldiers moved in and out of the large building where they were holding Dirtharevas.

He had tried to contact someone back at the tower, but his ability to track in the Fade was weak. Dirtharevas had their communication crystal, most certainly confiscated by the Templars by now. But he could not give up.

He had a plan. It required timing, magic, and luck. The problem was, he had never had more than a smattering of all three.

 


	10. I've hope to live, and am prepared to die

It was whispered among the scouts and attendants that attempting to ambush the Inquisitor, even figuratively, would lead to certain death. Nevertheless, that was exactly what Bishali intended to do. Word that their aravel had been sighted traveled back to the tower. She had been camped by the eluvian all day, but she was not the only one.

Fen’Harel came through first and was immediately engulfed by councilors asking about the mission, the children, the Crossroads, and other important matters. Inan and Abelas followed closely behind. They were accosted by the scouts. The Inquisitor did not appear.

“Inquisitor!” someone called in friendly welcome. Bishali looked around and found that the woman had somehow managed to come in behind Inan and had almost slipped off unnoticed. Fortunately, once someone did notice, several others converged on her, trapping her in the courtyard.

They did not have much to say or do other than offer words of welcome and briefly grasp her wrist before moving off. Stunned for a moment at the unexpected goodwill, she looked around in bewilderment. That was the moment Bishali chose to strike.

“Inquisitor!” she said running toward her.

The woman recognized her voice. “Bishali!” she said, smiling, but still distractedly looking around. “Why is everyone being nice to me?” Then she saw Bishali’s face and she immediately grew serious. “What’s wrong?”

“Lindel’s missing,” Bishali blurted.

Her eyes narrowed. She turned on her heel and stalked to the still-conversing councilors. Before Bishali could object or chase after her, the Inquisitor grabbed Fen’Harel’s wrist, cast a half-hearted apology over her shoulder, and dragged the elvhen leader back with her. The Inquisitor released him once they were within earshot. She glanced up at him to give him a more genuine apology, but immediately returned her attention to Bishali.

“Tell me what happened,” she demanded.

“Lindel is missing,” she repeated for Fen’Harel’s benefit. His look of mild annoyance disappeared and he also gave her his full attention. The intensity of both of them together was unnerving, but Bishali had been preparing this speech all day. “Lindel and Dirtharevas went out to take measurements of the Veil. They should have been back a week ago. They didn’t tell me where they were going, but Lindel mentioned one of the sites is a crater. He didn’t say anything else. I think Dirtharevas spoke to Councilor Garas. That’s all I know, but I know something’s wrong and no one will listen.” Her words had come out in a rush and she expected to have to repeat herself or insist they take her seriously, but it was unnecessary.

“Solas,” the Inquisitor said, exchanging a glance with the Dread Wolf. They were both worried and that scared Bishali even more.

Fen’Harel nodded sharply and turned toward the group of councilors who conversed quietly, some casting dour glances at the Inquisitor. “Excuse me, I need to speak with Garas.”

“Of course,” Garas said, in the too calm, too polite manner that was his way. “But you must be exhausted. Come, we should take our discussion inside.” He strode off before anyone could object, flicking a blonde braid over his shoulder.

Fen’Harel followed, but not before addressing the two women. “Go to my office, wait for me there.” He handed the Inquisitor a rune-key and hurried to catch up with Garas.

The Inquisitor resumed her path into the tower, catching Inan’s attention as she passed. She did not return the taller woman’s smile, but jerked her head in the direction she was heading instead. Seeing her expression, Inan nodded and elbowed Abelas. The pair made their promises to talk to the scouts later and followed closely behind.

 

* * *

  
“Weren’t you the one who argued that it was too dangerous to go out alone?” Solas asked.

“I offered him an escort, but he refused. Besides, he is not alone. Dirtharevas is with Lindel,” Garas said easily. “The boy is smart, loyal, and not completely untrained. And,” he added before Solas could interject, “like you, they are both free to go where they will.”

It was a waste of time to argue, but Solas did not like his lack of concern. On the other hand, Garas had always shown a lack of concern for everything except his own people.

“Do you know where they planned to visit first?” he asked.

“Yes, a blast crater in Southern Orlais.” His brow raised. “I believe your friend, the Inquisitor, is familiar with it as well.”

Solas did not respond to anything that last statement implied. “Thank you,” he said and left without waiting for a response.

 

* * *

 

Leliana’s message had indicated that the captured mage was powerful enough to require several Templars to subdue. Lindel had no such power. Therefore, it was unlikely that he had been captured. That he might be dead, was something neither he nor Vir voiced in front of Bishali.

The three of them gathered in front of the eluvian Dirtharevas had used. Inan joined them moments later. Abelas decided to stay behind. His duty was still to his scouts and he knew that Lindel was in the best hands possible.

It took only moments for Vir to orient herself once she exited the eluvian. She led them through the cover of the forest, far from any path. After more than an hour at something slightly less than a run, she finally stopped at the base of a moss-covered granite outcropping. The sun was already at an angle and they were losing light quickly.

She knelt, waiting for them to catch their breath and motioned for them to move closer. “From here the forest gets thinner,” she said quietly as they gathered around her and copied her pose. “Can you track Lindel with magic?” she asked Solas.

“I could track him in the Fade,” he replied, “but I doubt he is sleeping.”

“He’s probably using an illusion to hide himself,” she said. “Can you look for that?”

“Possibly,” he said, already searching. He had not expected to find a spirit where the Veil had been so damaged, but one of them was calm enough to tell him what it saw.

There was an elf that had been to the crater and another that was captured by the ‘hollow men.’ It showed him where the first elf had gone. Then it showed him the explosion at the temple. Then it tried to show him again. It lived forever in a loop, remembering and hurting. Solas gently took the memory away and freed the spirit from the damage that had bound it there.

He opened his eyes and found Vir looking at him as if she knew what he had seen. He nodded once, but when he spoke it was to relay Lindel’s location.

Vir nodded. “I’ll go get him. You three stay here.”

 

* * *

 

Lindel was running out of time. Before long, he would be too weak to hold his illusion and would be unable to get into the garrison unnoticed. He needed to make his attempt when darkness fell, but the rotation had changed again. The guards had been regular before: four soldiers made their rounds, never going anywhere alone. Two circled the perimeter, and two paced the length of the building, checking both floors until the end of their duties.

There was always a moment in the rotation where he could slip past the outside guards and into the building while the inside guards were still on the far side. Then he could time it so that the change in shift let him get up the stairs to where they were holding Dirtharevas. It was risky and, if he was being honest, likely to fail, but he had to do something.

He had been preparing to try, but suddenly the patrol had increased to three. The new pair ranging both the inside and the outside of the building. Now, no matter what he did, he would be walking right next to a Templar with only his illusions between them.

Nevermind, it was now or never. He reinforced his camouflage. Picturing every detail of the area around him, projecting it over his shields. At this point his shields were not even enough to stop a fist, much less a sword.

A hand clamped around his mouth, killing the startled yelp he would have made. Something metal pressed against his stomach.

“It’s Vir,” the Inquisitor said and tightened her hold on him as he nearly fainted from fatigue and relief. “Keep your illusion up and follow me.” She took his hand in a grip that was simultaneously painful and comforting. She moved quickly, but seemed to be aware of his condition. They made it to better cover where three others were waiting.

Bishali dragged him from Vir’s grasp, engulfing him in a violent hug. He should have known she would have found a way to follow him. He returned the gesture weakly, but gratefully.

“Good,” Inan said, keeping her voice low and her gaze wary. “Let’s go.”

“No, we can’t,” he protested, struggling to remove himself from Bishali’s grasp. “Dirtharevas is still in there.”

“Are you certain he’s still alive?” the third person asked. It was Fen’Harel. The mage’s eyes looked far away, his expression troubled.

It took a moment to recover from the idea that the Dread Wolf had come to save him. A whisper of sound followed by the most glorious smell, distracted him.

“Here,” the Inquisitor said, shoving an oat bar at him. “Eat slowly,” she cautioned.

He took the bar and did as he was told, but it was difficult. He was ravenous but the act of chewing took more energy than he remembered it taking before. As he ate, he described his plan to get Dirtharevas out. Spoken aloud he saw it for how impossible it was. Impossible for him.

“I don’t see him,” Fen’Harel said.

“I know he’s there. They were keeping him awake while they questioned him. At least they were until a few days ago. Now, they just let him wander around upstairs. They don’t even guard him anymore.”

“They don’t need to guard him,” the Inquisitor said, bluntly. “We’re too late. They made him Tranquil.”

 

* * *

 

Solas watched Vir argue with Lindel. Dirtharevas was not an enemy, but he had attempted to hinder her plans to save her people. She would not hesitate to leave him behind. At least, that is what he would have thought before. Now he knew differently.

Vir did not abandon allies without reason, nor would she throw away the lives of her friends. She saved as many as she could, however she could, and if Lindel or anyone else hated her for saving their lives, she would live with that. Her arguments were cold and calculating, but now somehow Solas could see through the mask.

“Tranquility can be undone,” Lindel countered. “You’ve said that yourself.”

“If he survives it at all,” she said. “Lindel, I know you tried to help him-”

“And I know you didn’t like him, but we can’t abandon him,” he interrupted. “I will go myself if I have to.”

Bishali clutched his arm.

Vir sighed in defeat. She shook her head. “I’ll go.”

“I will go with you,” Solas said.

“No,” she said whirling to face him. “If they catch you they will kill you. They won’t question you. They won’t ask Leliana for permission. They will kill you.”

“I am not helpless,” he said, seeing the fear in her eyes, and trying to speak to it. “Or have you forgotten what happened to the qunari?”

She bared her teeth. “Will that work against twenty Templars? Are you certain? I’ll go alone. I can do it.”

The terrifying smile that once evoked anger, now he knew that it was a mask too, just another lie. For the first time, he saw the truth. Vir had not lied to hurt him. She lied to hurt herself.

“You can’t cast an illusion on yourself to get past them and you can’t mask your exit with Dirtharevas either.” Their argument had never risen above a murmur, but it was no less intense for the lack of volume.

“I don’t need illusions to sneak past them,” she hissed, “and once I reach him I can fight my way out. All I need is to get to a window. I can get us to the ground.”

That was just reckless. He grabbed her shoulders. “Every room with a window contains several Templars. Are you going to fight your way out against all of them?”

“If necessary, yes.” She said, going from reluctant to determined. He would not be able to stop her.

“You will die,” he said, giving her shoulders a shake to hide the shaking of his hands. His dreams had warned of this moment. How their friendship always ended in her death. How she was willing to throw her life away, because of him.

“Solas,” she said as if she were surprised he did not understand. “I don’t matter.”

It was not something she expected him to counter. For her, it was simply the truth, but he could not allow her to continue believing it. She shrugged and began to pull away.

He pulled her back and forced her to look at him. “You do,” he said so softly that she might not have heard it. He pulled her closer still and swooped down before he could lose his nerve. He pressed his lips to hers, a silent appeal for caution.

Her shock lasted a moment, another, then she kissed him back and he was surprised she did not draw blood.

They parted, because they needed air and a kiss in their current situation was wildly inappropriate. He did not regret it. “You do,” he repeated.

Inan muttered softly from somewhere behind him, “It’s about time.”

Vir sucked on her lower lip and closed her eyes. She took several deep breaths. Her brows knit, deep in thought. When she opened them, there was a spark of an idea, then a flame.

“Burn down the building,” she said.

 

* * *

 

The fire started in the kitchen. In the morning it would seem to be a terrible accident. Fen’Harel controlled the flames carefully. Not all the occupants were Templars, the civilians should have time to get out. An explosion, violent enough to be felt even from a distance, rocked the building.

“Barrels of fish oil,” the Inquisitor murmured. Templars began pouring out of the building, shouting in panic, and running away. The Inquisitor had chosen their position downwind of the building. The Templars were less likely to run in that direction and the smoke would cover their retreat. Unfortunately, it made it difficult for Lindel to see.

“I don’t see Dirtharevas,” Lindel said, attempting to far-see the exit.

“Of course not,” the Inquisitor said contemptuously. “Templars aren’t going to try to save a Tranquil and someone made Tranquil wouldn’t know to escape.”

Fen’Harel controlled the fire while he scanned the inside of the building. “Clear,” he said and the Inquisitor dashed from cover.

Lindel would not have noticed she was gone if not for Fen’Harel’s signal. The brush beside him barely moved and suddenly she was at the wall. Her grappling hook shot from her arm to the sill of an open window secured by thick iron bars. Lindel wondered how she would break through them, but she simply swarmed up the line and squeezed in between.

Moments later a shuttered window burst open and a Templar, still on fire, fell from the second floor. The grappling hook shot out again and the Inquisitor swung out, dragging Dirtharevas with her. He was taller than she and heavier by a good margin. The burning roof cracked and buckled during their descent. She released the grapple a few feet before they touched the ground. The Inquisitor regained her feet, but she held her shoulder as if it pained her. She struggled to pull Dirtharevas to his feet. The man seemed uninjured, but he moved with all the haste of a sleepwalker.

Someone ran back toward the building. A man, dressed in a nightshirt. He did not seem to see them and the Inquisitor did not give him time to register their presence. She threw the end of her grapple toward him. It whipped around his neck and dug in. She yanked on it sharply and the man went down.

She took the time to drag him back to the burning building and shoved him into the fire. Then she grabbed Dirtharevas’s hand again and sprinted back toward cover.

Once she reached them, Inan picked Dirtharevas up and slung him over her shoulder. He did not protest or move at all and she ran as if he weighed nothing.

Lindel, helped along by Bishali, followed the Inquisitor back to the eluvian and safety. Fen’Harel ran closely at her side. The pair held hands the entire way.

 


	11. She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn

Lindel wanted to talk about what had happened before Dirtharevas was captured, but it felt wrong to discuss it in front of him.

Inan had set Dirtharevas down once they were in the crossroads. He followed them complacently. Everything he did now was complacent, but he kept stumbling and walking into things.

“Is something wrong?” Lindel asked.

“I cannot see here,” he said. “This place makes me sick.” Inan picked him up again. “Thank you,” he said.

“What were you and Dirtharevas doing in the crater, Lindel,” Fen’Harel asked.

Up until now, the Dread Wolf had been preoccupied with the Inquisitor. She had injured her shoulder rescuing Dirtharevas and wore a makeshift bandage that kept her left arm stable. She appeared to walk without difficulty, but Lindel knew her well enough to know that it still pained her. As if she could feel his eyes on her, she turned her head and offered a reassuring smile.

Encouraged, he recounted his story. “I was there to survey the area and stand watch,” he said. “Dirtharevas was doing some kind of spell that required him to enter a trance. He...” Lindel glanced at the man who hung upside down over Inan’s shoulder. “He had been acting strange even before then. He talked different, acted different.”

“In what way?” the Inquisitor asked.

“He acted like he didn’t notice the rain even though there was a storm.” Lindel shook his head. “Usually Dirtharevas complains about even the slightest change of weather.”

“Then what?” Fen’Harel prompted.

“He spent all night casting, but I detected the Templars before he finished. I woke him and he went... crazy.” Lindel remembered the words, but they still made no sense. “He said he saw a field of mirrors, that it’s your secret and the source of your corruption.” It was strange to simply state the accusation in front of both accuser and accused, but neither man showed any reaction to his words.

“Dirtharevas,” Fen’Harel said, addressing him directly. “Do you remember anything about the mirrors?”

“No,” Dirtharevas replied in that strange monotone voice. “I had a friend, she told me things, but I don’t remember her name anymore.”

Four pairs of eyes looked at Lindel. “There was that too,” he said. “He seemed to be speaking to someone and answering himself. Before I... before I knocked him out he said, ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t stop her.’” He thought about the events that led to Dirtharevas’s capture. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t knocked him out, maybe he could have fought them.”

“No, it’s not,” Bishali scolded him. “If Dirtharevas had just gone with you, you’d both have been safe. Instead he almost got you killed. I knew there was something wrong with him,” she said, muttering the last part.

“Bishali is right,” Fen’Harel said. “Fighting a Templar is risky even for the strongest mage. It seems to me that Dirtharevas was being aided by a spirit. A Templar is specially trained for precisely that situation and it seems they were expecting the encounter.”

“What do you mean ‘expecting’?”

The Inquisitor answered. “Leliana, my former spymaster, told me that they had been warned there would be elvhen activity in the area.”

“Who could have known we would be out there?” Lindel asked.

“Who indeed,” Fen’Harel said grimly.

* * *

Vir was expecting someone to lay the blame for Dirtharevas’s condition at her feet, but she hoped they would wait for at least a day. She needed time to think and to heal and she and Solas needed to talk — about a number of things.

Unfortunately, she was not to be afforded the time. A large group surrounded them at the eluvian.

“So this is the work of the Templars you allied with,” Garas said, though he made it sound as important as the color of her shoes.

Others were less subtle. “Another casualty, Inquisitor. Do you keep a tally of all the elvhen you’ve destroyed, in mind and spirit, if not in body.”

There were only three people that Vir thought might defend her and she truly hoped they would not. Her relationship with Solas was already complicated, she did not want anyone questioning his loyalties again. Inan was only likely to end up in another duel. Lindel was not recovered and had already done too much on her behalf. Much to her surprise, Bishali became her unexpected ally.

“None of this would have happened if any of you had listened to me,” Bishali shouted. The elvhen surrounding them backed up a pace. “I told you, it was too dangerous to go out there,” she said to Lindel, not sparing her friend criticism despite her concern for him. “I told you that something was wrong when they were late,” she yelled at Garas and the other councilors. “The Inquisitor was the only one who cared that they were missing. So don’t blame her for the work of humans when we can’t even take care of each other.”

In the face of such a strong rebuke from the youngest elvhen present, the leaders of the Council ended their accusations abruptly and collectively remembered they had somewhere else to be. Bishali stalked off, leaving the rescue party with Lindel and Dirtharevas.

“Come, young one,” Inan said, clapping her hand on Lindel’s shoulder. “Let’s get you and ‘Vas to the infirmary. We’ll see what can be done for him and get more than an oatbar into you.”

“I’m worried about Bishali,” Lindel said, “but I’m hungry enough to worry later.”

Inan laughed as she steered Lindel before her and half dragged Dirtharevas after her. “Oh look,” she called over her shoulder at Vir and Solas, “you’re alone.”

* * *

They exchanged a long look. “We need to talk,” he said.

“We do,” Vir agreed. She stood as straight as she was able, prepared to have the discussion now, but her left shoulder did not move and her face was lined with pain.

“I will heal your shoulder first,” he said, taking her elbow and guiding her into the tower.

He helped her to her room. “I’ll be back shortly,” he promised and left. When he returned, Vir was cutting off her own tunic with a knife.

He grabbed her wrist, scolding her, “I said I’d be back shortly. You should have waited.”

“I smell like roasted Templar and I can’t lift my arm,” she said through gritted teeth.

He tsked and led her to the bathing room. Steam rose from hot water that filled the large porcelain tub. Clumps of scented bubbles cluttered the surface.

“You drew me a bath?” she asked, surprised.

“Well, as you said, you do need one,” he replied with mock seriousness.

She snorted and lifted her good arm. “Help,” she asked.

He hesitated, suddenly realizing what that would entail. “I can get Bishali to come help you, if it’s more comfortable for you.”

“Coward,” she said, snickering. There was a slight movement and a tiny dagger the length of her palm appeared in her hand. It was just like the one he had seen in his dream. He grabbed her wrist.

“What?” she said.

“I, thought there might be poison on that,” he said feeling foolish.

She gave him a look. “Do you think I’d use a knife with poison on myself?” She shook her head. The knife disappeared. Her wrist moved the other way, just as slight. “This is the one with poison.” Two swift motions and she was holding the regular one again. She proceeded to cut off her shirt and accomplishing that, continued undressing until she was bare. Well, not quite bare. She was ringed from head to toe in sheathes concealing the deadly tools of her trade.

“When did you get those?” he asked. The sight of so many weapons managing to distract him from her nakedness.

“They were with my hands,” she said.

“How do you get them on?”

“When my left shoulder works, I can usually use my prosthetics to secure the latches on the right arm. I can use my right hand for everything else.” She began disarming with the same efficiency that she used to disrobe. As caches released she placed each weapon into the the empty basin that sat on a large vanity. Then she worked on the sheathes themselves, only requiring his aide on the ones she could not reach with her right hand.

The mention of her shoulder reminded him of his original intentions. He reached out with his magic, using far more than he had been able to in the field. His inspection revealed torn muscles and a badly abused joint, but nothing more sinister. “It will take time to heal completely,” he said with his eyes closed. “For now, you should not fight or climb with it and certainly do not swing out of burning buildings.”

“Very well,” she said when he opened his eyes. She moved her arm experimentally and found it functional. She sighed with relief and smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

“You are welcome,” he replied. Time ticked by and he realized once again that she was in front of him completely naked and looked as if she had no intention of moving until he said or did something. He cleared his throat. “The water is getting cold.”

She chuckled and turned. “Maybe you could use some cold water,” she said over her shoulder.

“I thought we should talk first,” he said, averting his eyes.

“Yes,” she said, half in response to him and half in reaction to the hot water. She closed her eyes in bliss. “Talking’s a lot like cold water for us.”

He was forced to laugh at that. “Enjoy your bath," he said with a bow. "I’ll leave some towels and things by the door.”

“You could stay,” she said, quietly. “I don’t mind the company and we don’t have to talk about important things just yet.”

He hesitated a moment, but she was right. This was the only time either of them would allow before they had to discuss the future. He pulled the vanity chair next to the tub near her head. He rolled up his sleeves, added soap to his hands, and began washing her hair. The act surprised her at first, but she readily submitted.

“Your hair has grown out,” he said, only now noticing how much longer it was than it had been when she arrived.

“Hmm,” she said, as he massaged her scalp. “I usually just cut off random bits to keep it short. It’s all I can manage one handed in the field. Here, I haven’t had to worry about living rough or keeping it out of my way.”

“It makes you look softer. Quite different from before.”

“Oh?”

“When I first saw you, I thought of you as a woman composed entirely of edges.”

She bowed her head forward, letting him massage the back of her neck. She groaned and the sound made it difficult for him to concentrate. “And now,” she said, but it was more of a sigh.

He swallowed, focusing on his task. “Now I realize you just wear them,” he said and dumped water on her head.

She sputtered, laughing, but only threw water back at him once before she let him rinse off the rest of her hair. She leaned back when he was finished, draping her arms over both sides of the tub. She was as relaxed as he had ever seen her and it was not long before her breathing betrayed that she had fallen asleep.

He picked up her ruined clothing, throwing them into a bin for disposal. He transferred her weapons to a tray, taking care never to touch the edges. He examined the dagger he recognized from his dream as he carried the tray back to her room. The hilt was runed in lyrium, specifically crafted to pierce magical shielding. The dagger itself was thin enough to slip through the rings of even the finest chain armor. The poison coat no doubt killed quickly. Another stark reminder that there were many things to discuss before their relationship grew even more complicated.

He retrieved some towels and a robe from a storage room and returned to the bathing chamber. Vir was still asleep though the water no longer steamed and the bubbles on the surface had dissolved. She was beautiful and he realized he had always thought so.

He put his burdens aside and touched her hand. “I hate to wake you,” he said regretfully as she stirred, “but if you stay in there any longer you will turn into a prune.”

She made a face and kept her eyes closed. “If wrinkles bother you,” she said, “I have more bad news.”

The reminder that she was mortal was all he needed to drag his thoughts back to the conversations they needed to have.

He put the towels beside the tub and picked up the robe, intending to help her into it.

Then she stretched in a way that did not seem intentionally seductive, but nevertheless had the same effect. If she was suffering from wrinkles, he could not see them. She stood in the tub, letting the water fall from her before stepping out and picking up a towel. She caught him staring as she dried herself off.

“You’re free to look as much as you want,” she said, “but if you tear that robe, you have to bring me a new one.”

Solas looked down to find himself clutching the garment, the fabric of it twisting and stretching in his white knuckled grasp. He ducked his head when he held it out for her, but he accepted her invitation to look.

She stepped out of the tub, noting his attention. It was not his imagination that she swung her hips more than absolutely necessary. She pivoted on her toes in front of him, giving him a delightful view of her backside before she slipped her arms into the sleeves of the proffered robe.

He settled it onto her shoulders and decided that a little turnabout was fair play. He moved in closer until her back was pressed against his chest. Her breath caught as he brought his arms around her. He dragged the fabric slowly as he covered her body with each half of the robe. Holding the fabric in place against her stomach with each hand in turn as he brought the belt around and tied it for her.

“I forgot you don’t play fair,” she whispered.

His chest rumbled with a laugh at both the accuracy and hypocrisy of that statement. He wrapped his arms around her again and she leaned back against him. Eventually she turned to wrap her arm around his waist and bury her face against his chest. It felt, not only right, but familiar. They stayed that way, neither moving or speaking, as if by staying there they could avoid responsibility forever. Eventually she was the one to bring them back to reality.

“We really do need to talk,” she said, loosening her hold on him.

He let his arms fall back to his sides reluctantly. “We do,” he said echoing her reply from earlier.

They returned to her chamber, both wishing it was not for the conversation they were about to have.


	12. Truths would be tales, Where now half tales be truths

Solas thought there would be an awkward silence when they entered her room, a moment where they were unsure of where to begin, but Vir took his hand and led him to her bed.

“I thought we were going to talk,” he said even as he kicked off his boots and joined her.

She laughed. “We are, but in the Fade. What I am going to tell you is for you alone. Besides, you and I both know you don’t believe anything I say.”

“That’s not,” he began, then stopped. She raised a brow. He tried again. “That’s not entirely true.”

She lay on her side, still in her robe, and patted the place beside her. “Are you honestly going to resist going to the Fade?”

He took her hand and lay next to her, closing his eyes. “There is a first time for everything.”

“I hope so,” was the last thing she said before they both drifted to sleep.

* * *

They met in the rotunda. He stood next to his desk and Vir paced the width of the room. The colors around her shifted rapidly. It was the visual embodiment of her troubled mind. Solas watched, trying to gather his own thoughts. They traded glances several times. Then of course, they both began speaking at once.

“If we-” he said.  
“I know-” she began.

They stopped and she smoothed her hair nervously.

“Would you like to go first,” he offered, “or shall I?”

“I think I’d better,” she said. The Fade around her turned dark, almost black. She was genuinely afraid. He reached for her hand, instinctively, but she shook her head. “I know what the field of mirrors is. My agent, my Hope, created it.”

He had not expected that. He had not even thought to ask her if she recognized it when Lindel brought it up. “What is it?” he asked.

“Each mirror in the field leads to a different reality, an alternate version of a period of time beginning after the Breach and ending when the Solas of that timeline tears down the Veil.” She paused to let her last words sink in. “There are over a thousand of them, spanning ten thousand years, and... I remember living through all of them.”

Despite having no body to feel weakness, Solas still felt the need to sit. He found his chair and sank into it slowly, while countless questions fought to be asked. She held up her hand as if she could already hear them.

“Did you ever wonder how I could know so many things in a mortal lifetime?” She raised a brow. “I am mortal, but I have not lived a mortal lifetime. I have lived several.” She smiled briefly, likely at his stunned expression. “Each time the Veil is destroyed, I die. Then my Hope sends me back and I wake up in my cell at Haven and everything begins again.”

“You knew about me, the orb, my agents...” he said, trailing off.

She nodded.

“And your Hope did this, why? How?”

“How,” she waved a hand vaguely, “magic. Why?” she sighed. “At first it was ‘to save me from non-existence,’ those were his words. He also called it the Void. I am not clear what that means.” She shrugged and returned to the subject. “But each lifetime he walked at my side, unseen. Observing, learning, more about the Veil and the Fade, it was how he found a way to save both our worlds. It took him ten thousand years.”

“Unseen?” Solas repeated. “Your Hope was a spirit?”

“No,” she said slowly. “My Hope was an elvhen mage named Solas.”

The words shocked the breath from him. The final pieces of all he had seen and felt, falling into place. It was no wonder she never revealed her agent’s name, but that was the least important thing at the moment.

“So,” he said quietly, “you are the source of my dreams of us.”

Her brows furrowed. “What dreams?”

It should not have, but her attempt to pretend innocence after everything she just confessed enraged him. Who else could have given him those memories?

“Do not say that,” he said rising from his chair. He stalked toward her. “The dreams in which we’re friends and I get to witness the woman you could have been. The dreams where I watch us make love only to later watch myself kill you.” His voice rose with every word, but faltered on the last. His weakness only served to make him angrier. “All these feeling that I thought I had for you, the need to save you, the reason I kissed you, you put them there trying to recreate your ‘Hope,’” he said with disgust. What she had tried to do was a violation on every level. It made his skin crawl.

“I wouldn’t do that,” she exclaimed indignantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said and the Fade agreed with her, but he did not care. If she traveled through so many lifetimes, there was no telling what she was capable of.

“Oh, right, that is the one line you won’t cross. Stop lying to me,” he said. Anger, both of theirs, colored the room red. All the ups and downs of their relationship had led to this conclusion. She was a monster, as selfish and cruel as he had always believed. He looked once more into the eyes of the woman who had fooled and betrayed everyone. He gathered his magic to strike her down before she could hurt anyone else. Her eyes flicked to the side and stared at something over his shoulder behind him.

“Solas?” she said, her voice growing panicked. “No, don’t hurt him!”

Him? The spirit struck him from behind. Fire coursed through his mind and body. His back arced as the pain paralyzed him. He fought to regain control and turned in time to see a spirit with his face. Solas it said, making his name into a curse. It gathered him up and took his spirit deep into the Fade.

* * *

Vir woke, covering her mouth to kill the scream that had emerged after one Solas attacked the other. His body was still beside her, but he did not move. “No, no, no, no,” she whimpered, putting her head against his chest. He was still alive though his heart raced, his breathing was shallow, and nothing she did could wake him.

She got up from her bed and hurried to her bags that sat in the corner, still unpacked. She would never be able to get back to sleep again without help. She drank down a potion, not bothering to measure, then lay back down to wait. Tears splashed on her pillow as she curled up beside him and took his hand again. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her eyes drifting closed as the potion finally took effect. “I’ll find you. I promise.”

She dreamed.

Of course neither Solas was anywhere to be found. She was bound to him, that much she knew, but their connection was through the eluvian field and she did not know where it was. She had no memories to work with because she had never seen the field that Solas described. Or had she? Each time she died, she lay adrift in the dark until Solas sent her back again. The darkness was the eluvian spell. She had seen the field from the inside. It was a start.

It was more difficult to intentionally imagine nothing than she thought it would be. After what felt like an age, she still remained standing on a path of floating rock, surrounded by half formed memories. She hugged herself, striving for calm even though her worst fears were coming true. She would fail to save her people and fail to save Solas as well. She wanted nothing more than to sink to her knees and scream.

Her hand wavered as she lost her concentration. She immediately thought to bring it back, but finally realized her mistake. She stopped trying to control her surroundings. She stopped pushing away the memories that always waited to overwhelm her. She let the Fade take its shape from her heart and then she was there, floating in the darkness, at the heart of the eluvian.

A thread of light trailed out from her left hand. Somewhere at the other end Solas needed her.

She ran.

* * *

“Was this her plan,” Solas asked as he fought the demon. “To have a spirit replace me?”

“You know nothing,” it said, advancing. “You loved her and you forgot. I tried to give it back to you, but you couldn’t bear the truth.”

“You cannot force feelings on another. That is not how love works.”

“She said the same thing,” it screamed in anguish. “She sent me away. I was only trying to help.” It rushed forward, knocking his defenses aside. He fell back and it pinned him to the ground.

The spirit knew him. Every thought as he had it, every action before he took it, every method he tried for escape, it knew what he would do and thwarted him. It had taken his shape down to the scar and fought him in a style he learned from a spirit of battle before the Towers Age began. He thought it might be Envy, but it was unlike any Envy demon he had seen. Envy never gave, it only took, and this spirit wanted him to have something.

Memories poured into his mind, faster than he could process them. They were like his dreams, only faster and he could not push them away. It hurt past endurance and still the memories came. He felt his hold slipping. Soon his sense of self would be lost.

A blinding burst of light chased the torrent of memories away. Somewhere nearby Vir shouted, “Solas, stop it. You’re hurting him.” He wanted to tell her that the demon was not him, but he could not put the words or thoughts together.

“He would have hurt you,” it argued in his voice. His vision returned, bringing the sight of Vir standing defensively between him and the spirit. It no longer looked like him. It was a dark purple cloud that seethed angrily. “He would have killed you.”

“I don’t matter,” she said. “Let him go.”

“No, he doesn’t deserve to forget. The healer harms when he hates.”

Vir straightened in surprise. “What... did you... Cole?” she asked, moving closer to the cloud.

The cloud faltered. “I... that wasn’t my name... I'm not....” It tried to be him again, but it could not find his shape.

“Cole, is that you?”

“No! I - I don’t - I followed him after the mother broke his mirrors. I… he wanted to stay. He didn’t want to leave you alone. He didn’t want to go back to being him.” It lashed out in his direction, Vir moved to guard him. The cloud subsided. “I tried to hold his memories to help him stay, but he couldn’t and I forgot myself.”

“He wanted me to be happy, but I was too stubborn,” Vir said sadly. “We hurt you in the process. I'm so sorry, Cole.”

The cloud drifted closer to Solas. “There’s more for me to give him.”

Vir stepped between them again. “No, those memories aren’t his and they aren’t yours either.”

“But...”

Vir reached out a hand toward the cloud. “It’s alright, Cole. You can forget.”

“He loved you,” it said.

Solas could only see the side of her face, but the air around dimmed with sorrow. “I know.”

“You still love him.”

“Of course,” she said and the Fade brightened painfully around her. Solas was forced to look away.

The cloud thinned, no longer an angry, seething storm. It resolved into the shape of a young man.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to help,” Cole said, taking her hand.

“I know Cole, you always do,” she said, giving his fingers a squeeze. “Good bye.”

The spirit bowed his head and disappeared. Leaving them alone again.

Vir turned and watched him struggle to sit up. “Solas...”

He silenced her with a backward wave of his hand. “All this time,” he said, shaking his head. “your agent, your Hope, was me.”

“He wasn’t you,” Vir said looking away.

“How can you still say that?” he demanded, too exhausted to raise his voice. “Don’t you think after all of this, you owe me the truth?”

Vir laughed, but there was no humor in it. She turned back and her false smile becoming a snarl. “Owe you. Owe. YOU?! You tortured me,” she threw the accusation at him. “I begged you not to send me back. I begged you to let me go. You promised me that you wouldn’t and I still woke up back in that cell with a hand I’m certain to lose slowly killing me.” Her anger faded to bitterness. “You said you loved me. How could you do that to me?”

“I didn't-” he said and stopped. He wanted to say ‘I didn’t know’ or ‘I didn’t mean to’ but neither of those were true. If he was her Hope then he did.

She smiled triumphantly. “No. You didn't. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t any of you. He was the only one who ever sent me back. The worst part is that he knew what it would do to me. He knew what I would choose to become and he did it anyway. To save me, to save the world, to save you from becoming a monster, but he sacrificed his very existence for us, because if you don’t tear down the Veil, he can never be.”

Solas did not know what to say, but Vir did not seem to be waiting for a response. She continued speaking softly almost to herself.

“You know sometimes I could see him. I didn’t know it was him at the time, but I saw him where the Veil was thin, watching, just standing there looking sad. Then he’d be gone. I didn’t understand it, but it gave me hope to keep trying. Hope that maybe this time I would do the right things and make you see that we were worth saving. But you would never see that,” she sneered. “Nothing I did was ever enough.” She took several breaths and when she spoke again there were unshed tears in her voice. “And now… I don’t see him anymore. He’s truly gone.”

She met his eyes, her voice growing rough with her own anger. “I did not tell you, because I couldn’t risk you tearing down the Veil. My Hope is gone and this lifetime, this mess,” she said waving her hand around her and between them, “is the very last chance we’ll have to save our worlds and I am not going to let you fuck it up again.”

Solas listened, but his anger remained. He had long been condemned for things he had never done and now it was for acts caused by a person he would never become. It felt unfair, but the person to blame was out of his reach. Still he was not above being petty.

“So this was your plan. To make me hate you so that I could kill you all without guilt,” he shook his head. “With all your knowledge, all your experience, your plan was merely to die permanently?”

“We were suffering,” she hissed. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You could have killed me,” he said, remembering the dagger. “More than once I imagine.”

“You never understand,” she said, looking away.

“I understand,” he said. “You were going to tell me what you told him. That you needed me to save both our people and I was the only one who could do it. You lie. I saw you after I took your arm. You were going to kill me, but you couldn’t do it.”

“No,” she snapped. “I couldn’t because I loved _him_ and I knew my plan had worked.” She laughed. “He took down the Veil without destroying himself. I knew if I killed him it would change everything, so all of my plans changed too. Without him, so many more would be dead. The children, the Iron Bull, Abelas. I can’t even begin to untangle all of this. All I know is that it had to happen this way for us to end up here.”

He could not argue with that, but he did not have to like it. “It was still a foolish plan,” he said.

“Oh look,” she said sarcastically, “it’s a Darkspawn Magister. I’ll ask him to open my magic orb. What could possibly go wrong?”

They glared at each other until he finally turned away. Neither spoke for some time. “Are we always like this?” he asked, finally.

She huffed. “What is this?”

“Fighting. Hiding our motives. Lying by omission. Even when we were friends, did we ever really trust each other?”

He though she would have no answer, but she did. “Once. My Hope and I lived in an apothecary shop in Wycome. I still fought with you, but not with him. Our war was over and we could share the things that were important. In some ways it was the happiest time of my life.”

“So never then,” he said, but even as he said it he knew he had gone too far.  
  
“Right,” she said and disappeared.

* * *

When Solas woke Vir was getting out of the bed. She ignored him. “Vir wait,” he said and tried to stand. Despite occurring entirely in the Fade, the fight had drained him. He collapsed.

Vir was immediately at his side. She lifted him up and hauled him back onto the bed. She barely looked at him as she helped him settle into place. Then his stomach growled. It was remarkably loud.

She bit her lip, but a snort of laughter escaped. “Hungry?” she asked.

He blushed. “I feel like I haven’t eaten in ten thousand years.”

“I’ll bet,” she said humorously. “I’ll bring you something from the kitchen. I don’t think you should walk for a while.”

He searched her face and found no animosity only genuine concern. “You’re the most resilient person I have ever met,” he said.

She raised her chin. “I’ve died a thousand time at the hands of my best friend. I’ve watched my allies become better people, only to go back to precisely what they were before. Just as I would get used to having a hand, I would lose it again. If I were not resilient, all would have been lost long ago.” She moved behind a changing screen to get dressed and emerged far faster than he would expect from someone wearing a dozen hidden knives.

“Vir,” he said as she opened the door. “I’m sorry.”

She sighed and shrugged. “You didn’t know.”

“No,” he said trying to search for the words to describe how he felt. “I’m sorry that I cannot be him.”

“Don’t be," she said and smiled sadly.  "If you were, I’d be dead.”

She left and closed the door. For the first time, Solas wondered if he was glad to know the truth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nervous posting this chapter. :] sorry.


	13. I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends

Vir brought back a massive tray of food and a bed table. She seemed rather subdued but said nothing as she placed the tray over his legs and propped him up with the help of various cushions and pillows from around the room. She dragged a chair to the side of the bed, uncovered the dishes, and fixed herself a plate. All the while, she barely looked at him. He was concerned, but then the savory aromas hit him and his stomach growled again. He could eat and ask her what was wrong at the same time.

He caught her hand before she could slip out of range and squeezed her fingers. “Thank you,” he said. She smiled, fleetingly and escaped to her chair, balancing her plate on her lap.

Solas focused on the array of dishes the tray offered, some savory, some sweet. There were more of the latter, but that was usually his preference. There was another dish with an array of sauces for dipping. Each plate offered only bite sized pieces meant to be eaten without utensils. The kitchen did not usually prepare such things, yet it did not take long for Vir to return. She nibbled on her food and still avoided his eyes. He shrugged and began eating.

As his hunger eased, he noted that everything offered were the foods he liked best. Some of them were rationed. He raised a brow at that.

“It's a lover's meal,” Vir said interrupting his admittedly slow analysis. In his defense he was still injured. A lover's meal: foods meant to be fed to another or sometimes eaten off another's body if so desired.

“Ahh,” he said. “Do I want to know why?”

She made a face and finally looked at him. “Inan,” she said. “She’s been talking about the rescue.” She looked back down at her food. “She ordered this prepared for us.”

“Ahh,” he said again, which explained the availability of such rare selections. “So the gossips are talking because of this and that I spent the night.” He shrugged and continued eating.

“Two nights,” she corrected.

He paused with the food halfway to his lips and looked out the window even though the light from outside could hardly tell him what day it was. Their battle with Cole had lasted a full day. It was no wonder that he was hungry. He imagined that Vir had faced some teasing when she requested their meal. However, it did seem strange that she would be so affected by mere teasing.

“Is there something else?” he asked.

She actually blushed. “In the Fade, when Cole attacked you, he gave you memories of us?”

“Yes. Many of them,” he confirmed.

“Some, I suppose, were good?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Many were good.”

“Right,” she said and took a deep breath. “The more sensitive mages in the tower noted a kind of emotional disturbance,” she struggled to describe something she obviously did not understand. “They were talking about waves and...” she trailed off looking very annoyed. Finally, she blurted, “What the hell is a hanin’theneras? I’ve never heard that word and it sounds like ‘glory dream,’ which makes no sense, but your attendants seem to find it hilarious and I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Solas stared at the Inquisitor who looked as torn between embarrassment and anger as he had ever seen her. His shoulders shook.

“Honestly,” she continued, muttering, “they're looking at me like I'm some kind of desire demon with a trick pelvis.” She looked at him strangely. “Are you laughing at me?”

He was.

“No,” he said and tried desperately not to, but he was far too tired to fight it. He convulsed weakly, snorting in alternate breaths.

She stood and snatched the entire bowl of chocolate covered cherry tarts from the tray. They were his favorites and he had been saving them for last. He watched her select one and eat it. She looked at him significantly. She knew. Of course she did.

He shook his head. “I apologize, Vir. I am not laughing at you,” he said even as another laugh bubbled its way up from his chest. He cleared his throat and focused on history rather than the absurd present. “Long ago when my people were a part of the Fade, thoughts and feelings flowed more freely than they do even in dreams today. It was not uncommon to feel the power of an intense emotion even at some distance. Some emotions more consistently than others.” He raised a brow to see if she understood.

She swallowed the tart she had been chewing with difficulty. “Even now?” she asked.

“No, obviously not or it wouldn't be the talk of the tower, but there may have been some rumors about me that would lend credence to possibility,” he admitted.

Vir's friendship with Inan meant she had more than likely heard the rumors, but her face gave nothing away.

“I don't actually know what happens now that the Veil is present, but it would certainly be unusual for emotional power like that to be created with someone who was neither elvhen nor a mage. Hence, you have... impressed everyone.”

“I see. I didn't know about that,” she said.

“Why would you?” he asked. She looked away as the reason dawned on him belatedly. He closed his eyes and sighed at his carelessness. “Vir, that does not mean-”

“It doesn't matter,” she interrupted, waving her hand.

He tried again. “Not being a mage does not-”

“I said,” she said sharply. “It doesn't matter.”

He dropped the subject and searched for something else to talk about in the ensuing silence. “Before the revelations of last night, I also had some topics to discuss about our relationship.”

The corner of her mouth turned up. “I guess I saved you the trouble there.”

He tilted his head. “Yes and no.”

“Oh?”

“I said I will represent your people to the Council and I plan to keep my word. I will negotiate a place for them in the Fade after my people begin to settle.”

She nodded.

“If we became lovers, this would call into question my loyalties and fitness to judge whether or not your people belong,” he waited for her to understand, she caught on immediately.

“And now that they think we are lovers, that still stands.”

“Correct,” he said.

“So what was your solution before?” she asked.

“I was going to offer to be discreet.”

She snorted. “That wouldn’t have worked.”

“True,” he said. “If not, I was and am willing to prove myself to the Council in order to argue on your behalf. Whatever it takes, I will not let doubts about me interfere with the rights of your people to return home. Perhaps one day I can bring some truth to what you read about me in the Crossroads all those years ago.”

She let the words sink in and smiled slowly. Then she stood and returned the bowl of tarts to his tray, still more than half full. “Out of curiosity,” she said as she returned to her chair looking more relaxed than she had all morning. “Were you going to say anything else?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted children,” he said.

Her face blanked in surprise. “Thinking of children already?”

“You do not have a lot of time,” he said solemnly.

She threw her head back laughed. “No, thanks,” she said, casually. “Two were enough for me.”

He choked on a tart. “What?!”

She winked. “Just kidding.”

He just shook his head and finished his meal.

* * *

The day passed and Solas was still not up to moving. He wanted to spare Vir the indignity of rumors that her lover weakly dragged himself back to his quarters on shaking legs. He slept for most of the rest of the day, got up to test his legs and use the bathing chamber, then returned to bed to sleep some more. Vir occupied herself with writing and made conversation when he was awake. She brought him food twice more, both the kind of regular meals that everyone in the tower ate. He was grateful and slightly disappointed.

He woke the next morning, feeling almost normal. Vir was asleep beside him, having joined him at some point in the night. Though she had not been attacked, she was still injured and had gone from one rescue to another with hardly any rest. He slipped from the bed, trying not to wake her. It was a sign of her exhaustion that he succeeded.

He went in search of food and an update on the Tower’s inhabitants. Vir had not lied, the kitchens were alive with gossip about the two of them. Even more so, now that their tryst had spanned to two days and three nights. The knowing looks he received when he asked for a meal for two spoke volumes. Vir’s friends among the staff gathered her apparent favorites.

The tray was heavy. “I do not think the Inquisitor needs this much food,” he said when they tried to give him more.

“Inquisitor?” Card said stacking one covered serving dish on another. “Is that what you call her in bed?”

Those nearby tittered nervously. Then someone else yelled. “Better question, does she call for the Dread Wolf when she peaks?” Silence fell as they wondered how he would receive such familiarity.

He accepted the last of their offerings with a serene smile of thanks and turned. "Only when the mood strikes us," he said and left as the kitchen roared with laughter behind him.

* * *

Vir woke as he entered the room. He thought he caught sight of a dagger disappearing when she recognized who was there. She stretched and raised a brow at the laden tray.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, but sat up and allowed him to arrange the tray between them. He sat beside her.

“I know,” he said. “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me the last few days.”

“It wasn’t really a hanin’theneras,” she said, fixing a plate of food for herself.

He laughed, but grew serious again. He held off eating until he could say what he needed. “I would have killed you, thinking you a monster, even though all I have learned of you in the past months should have told me the opposite. Still, you saved me from Cole, then cared for me in my weakness, and all I had shown you up to that point was scorn.”

She chuckled. “I’m used to it.”

“You should not be,” he said earnestly. “You deserved better than that from me.”

She did not answer and only picked at her food. Her discomfort plain.

He decided to press the issue. “I heard what you said to Cole. You said it to me before and I know you meant it. You believe you do not matter.” He tried to untangle his feelings from the ones Cole had given to him. “I know that what happened in the forest was not driven entirely by me, but I meant what I said. You do matter. I think part of your belief that you must sacrifice yourself is my fault. I promise I will be a better friend from now on.”

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. She looked up, still holding back tears, but managed a watery laugh. “That is a really low bar, Solas,” she said.

He chuckled, realizing that a truthful Vir may take some getting used to. “Small steps, Lethallan. Small steps.”

 


	14. Whom you pretend to honour and adore

After breakfast, Vir took her clothes behind the three paneled silk screen to change. Solas collected the remains of their meal and left it on a table in the hall for an attendant to take care of.

“What happens now?” she said, emerging fully dressed and wearing the prosthetic she called her ‘all-purpose.’ By her choice of clothing, reinforced leather with a light tunic to cover her bandaged shoulder, she seemed ready for a fight not a day of catching up with her friends. Then again, she had not spoken to them in the three days since they returned, perhaps it was wise.

He dragged his mind from where it had wandered. “I will convene a meeting of the Council. The next steps are to create anchor points for the spell in the three positions we have identified. With the orb I can manage that alone.”

She nodded, as no changes had been made to the plan since the last time they discussed it. “How long will it take to create the anchor points?”

“A full day at each site, perhaps two.” The anchor points were in themselves very complex spells. He saw her skepticism and answered it. “The sites are far from human settlements, I will not be disturbed. My wards will be enough to keep wild animals away.”

“It’s far from human settlements because it’s in the mountains and generally inhospitable to everyone,” Vir said. “I also doubt that your wards will keep the weather away and what will you do if a storm comes while you’re casting.”

He nodded, unperturbed by her doubts. He did not remind her that he had traveled alone for centuries before the Veil. Instead he replied, “If you are so concerned you may come with me.”

She raised a brow. “I would, but I’m not sure I’d be that much help. Wouldn’t a mage be better?”

“You know the landscape of Thedas better than anyone,” he countered. “You are skilled at fighting, hunting, and combating magic even without it yourself. You’re the one who memorized the diagrams for the anchors in the first place, I wouldn’t even need to bring notes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You were going to ask me to come, weren’t you, but I just walked in to volunteering.” It was not a question.

He allowed himself a smile.

She huffed and rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. “So what, a few paltry memories and you think you know me now?”

He did not have all the memories Cole had tried to give him. He did have centuries, perhaps more. They told him one thing. “I know that you want to see this through as much as I do.”

It was the right answer. She smiled. “Good. Alright, Solas, let’s finish this. Now all you have to do is convince your Council that it’s a good idea.”

Solas chuckled. “I don’t have to. We’re lovers now remember?”

She closed her eyes groaning. “This is ridiculous,” she complained. “How do you plan to set the record straight?”

“I see no reason to,” he answered seriously.

“You don’t?”

He shrugged. “We did kiss in the forest. I did spend three nights in your bed. I doubt that you want anyone to know what truly happened.” He waited for her response.

“Obviously,” she said.

“If we deny it, that will almost certainly confirm it. Why say anything at all?”

She searched his face. She seemed surprised and confused. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Both of us have endured far worse than rumors that we slept with someone,” he said gently.

“So we say nothing and let the gossips make of it what they will.”

“Unless you wish to manufacture a fight,” he suggested.

She snorted. “Why manufacture? We could probably just wait for a real one. Besides I don’t fake fight,” she said baring her teeth.

“Neither do I,” he said, reaching for the door to hold it open for her. “Does it bother you?” he asked curiously.

“I don’t know... I guess,” she said, seeming to search for a real answer and not the glib one she would have given before. “The last time someone called me vhenan they meant it.” Her face was shadowed by sorrow, she met his eyes.

A flash of memory: _Vir looked up at an image of him with that same expression_. In that moment, with her face tilted back and her troubled gaze meeting his, there was no feeling more natural than to offer her reassurance. No desire greater than to kiss the sadness from her lips. He was going to have to sort through his memories of her, for both their sakes. “I promise I will never call you vhenan,” he said without thinking.

The weary roll of her eyes was enough to make him wince. “Thanks,” she said and stepped through the open doorway.

He caught her arm. “I did not mean it that way,” he said, beginning his apology.

She patted his shoulder patiently, cutting off his torrent of words. “I know, my friend. You try.”

* * *

“The Inquisitor and I will visit the three sites. I predict each will take no longer than a few days. After that, we will conduct the spell. You all should return to your people and prepare them to move once everything is ready,” Solas concluded his update to the Council. He made Vir’s joining him an announcement rather than a request. As he had hoped, most made no note of it and agreed. He was pleased to find them eager to return to their homes and hopeful that their long wait was finally over.

Some began to rise, thinking the meeting was over, but Garas called for their attention. “I have two things I would like to discuss before you all leave. This may be the last time we convene in person until after the resettlement.”

There was some muttering, but they retook their seats and settled down.

“I take it,” he began, “that no one else is going to object to the Inquisitor’s presence at the most crucial stage of this endeavor? I recognize, Fen’Harel, that you may feel your relationship has made her a safe companion, but she would not be the first person to manipulate one of our leader’s emotions for gain.”

“My relationship with the Inquisitor is not up for discussion, Garas,” Solas said, addressing one councilor but making it clear that it went for the rest of them. “If you have any genuine questions about her ability to aide this process you are free to ask.”

“I see no reason to question her motives or abilities,” Dorf spoke up for the first time since the Council voted to support the Inquisitor’s spell. “That scout who rescued the children, what’s his name? Athim. He has made it clear that the Inquisitor went out of her way to spare our children when she attacked our ship. She also aided their rescue from the Crossroads. If she were going to act against us she would have already.”

“Her people attacked Dirtharevas and Lindel,” Garas exclaimed. “Or have you forgotten that the Inquisition allied with the Templars. Dirtharevas was measuring the Veil because he believed the spell was flawed. And before you say that she was key to rescuing him, she only did so after he was conveniently rendered incapable of telling us what he discovered.”

“She learned of their capture at the same time as the rest of us,” Solas said. “She even asked if we knew of anyone visiting the crater. We did not know it was him or she would have negotiated his release. Perhaps, if more attention had been paid to his status,” he said, pausing to make his point, “we would have known and this could have been avoided.”

Garas shook his head. “Nevertheless,” he said ignoring the jab, “it was quite clear that he discovered something important, which brings me to my second point. I believe we should attempt to reverse Dirtharevas’s condition before you begin to set the anchor points and certainly before you cast the spell.”

“We have waited long enough, Garas,” one of the others said. “We do not even know if the reversal will work or what his mind will be if it does.”

“I am aware of that,” he snapped.

The room went silent.

“Please,” Garas said, dropping his mask of indifference. “Dirtharevas was a friend and he asked for my help. I suppose I do take responsibility for what happened to him. While I genuinely believe that he has vital information, I also fear that he will be forgotten once the spell is cast and we all have our new homes to move to.”

Solas listened, not unmoved by his words. “Alright, Garas,” he said. “I am familiar with the way that the Seekers of Truth reversed Tranquility-”

“As am I,” Garas interrupted. “One of my agents obtained the information as a safeguard while hostilities with the Inquisition were still high.” Knowledge of the ritual was not something he had admitted before. Solas filed that bit away for later. “You should remain focused on your task. Make your preparations. Pack your equipment. I do not ask for your help, only your patience.”

Solas could hardly deny such a reasonable request. “I see no problem with delaying a few days. There is still some work I can do here.”

“Excellent,” Garas said and now he stood and the rest of the Councilors followed suit. “I will take a workroom and make arrangements. With the best of luck, we will have Dirtharevas back and he can reassure us that the spell will work fine.”

Inan snorted at the unlikelihood of that, but bowed. “Good luck, Garas,” she said and left before anyone else could try to extend the meeting again.

* * *

Inan had hoped Vir would come to see her after the meeting. Though she gave even odds to Solas stealing her away for another few days of Fade-shaking bliss.

Someone knocked on the door to the quarters she shared with Abelas. He was with his scouts and their suite was otherwise empty. She opened the door and found Vir, looking a bit tired and wearing exactly the annoyed and embarrassed expression she had expected. Inan grabbed her in a bear hug and pulled her into the room. Vir’s indignant protests were smothered against her shoulder. The smaller woman pushed her ineffectually away. She squeezed tighter, lifting her off her feet again.

“Details,” she said. “I want all the details. Leave nothing to the imagination. I want to be able to remind Fen’Harel a thousand years from now about how a mortal shook the very foundations of his precious Fade.”

Vir stopped struggling as Inan set her down. A choked off sob wracked her body. Inan’s grip eased and she tried to see Vir's face, but her head was bowed and her body rigid. Her shoulders shook with the effort it took to remain controlled.

“Lethallan?” she asked, grasping Vir’s shoulders to hold her at arms length. She bent to see beneath the veil of hair that further hid her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her lashes clumped as tears leaked through despite her efforts. “What-” Inan asked, surprised, bewildered, her eyes narrowed, angry. “What did he do?”

Vir’s eyes popped open. She raised her head shaking it vigorously. “Nothing. He didn’t do anything wrong. Not really. It’s not what you think,” she babbled rapidly. Whether it was her emotional state or her attempt to prevent her friend from running off to murder the Dread Wolf, Inan could not tell. “Nothing happened. I mean we didn’t- he doesn’t-” she trailed off and covered her mouth, sobbing as she sank to her knees.

Inan picked her up and carried her to the couch. She held Vir to her shoulder to let her cry and it was a sign of her state that she did not resist at all. She kicked herself mentally for having jumped to conclusions. “I’m so sorry. I was certain the two of you had finally come together.”

“I know,” Vir said, pulling back and wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “It’s complicated and it’s no one's fault. We’re actually better off now than we’ve ever been before,” she quirked a smile. “We’re just not together.”

“But at the council meeting-” Inan said, hesitating. She wanted Vir to know what happened and feared that it would hurt her more. “He knows that we all think two of you are together.”

Vir sighed. “We already discussed that. It’s simpler if we let people think whatever they want. Denying would raise questions and at least this way they don’t think I’ll murder him in his sleep.”

“Simpler, but not better.” Inan took her hand. “I know you’re trying to do what’s best for everyone, but... you are not happy about this.”

“No, you were right,” Vir said sheepishly. “I do love him, but he doesn’t feel the same way." She took a deep breath. "So can we just never talk about it?”

Inan sighed. “That has not worked very well for you, Lethallan.”

“Please,” she begged. “And promise you won’t pester him. We’re friends now and I want it to stay that way.”

“Alright,” she agreed reluctantly. Vir had stopped crying, but she looked exhausted and miserable. Inan stood and offered her hand. “You look like you could use a drink,” she suggested.

“The entire world does not have enough wine,” Vir said, but she let Inan pull her to her feet.

“We’ll see,” Inan said. She knew where Fen’Harel kept a special stash of his favorites. It was where some of their lover’s meal had come from. It would serve him right.

* * *

Lindel resumed his duties as an attendant. There was more for him to do now as the tower began to empty. Most of the councilors had gone back to their clans and taken their servants with them. There were fewer people to attend to, but the hands that were available were dwindling faster than the work. Every remaining attendant simply did whatever was necessary. At the moment that meant washing dishes.

He watched Dirtharevas complete his task efficiently. He walked without stumbling, did not drop anything, and seemed unperturbed by the menial nature of his work. He had recovered from whatever ailed him in the Crossroads and had not complained about anything since.

“You said you couldn’t see in the Crossroads and it made you sick? Can you describe it?” Lindel asked.

“Everything was gray and dark,” he answered. “I could see some shapes, but it was difficult to find my way. My feet were heavier. I was tired and it took effort to breathe. It was much easier being carried.”

As Dirtharevas began to speak, Lindel had to force himself to listen. He could not help but remember how alive the mage’s voice had been before. He was always anxious or excited about something. Every statement was an argument or a warning, whether or not he intended it to be. Lindel never thought he would miss it.

He and Dirtharevas had just come from a meeting with Councilor Garas. He informed them that he would attempt to reverse Dirtharevas’s Tranquility. To do so, he would need to summon a spirit and entice it to possess the Tranquil mage.

Spirits did not care for someone who could not feel, thus choosing the spirit was an important step. Garas had questioned Dirtharevas at length about the spirit friend who had helped him before. If she survived the Templar attack, it was possible that she would be willing to help. Unfortunately the memories of what happened during the attack and in the crater were held by the spirit who was in control at the time. Dirtharevas did not remember anything.

Garas had even asked Lindel to repeat what he had heard and what he had observed, but the information was meager at best. Lindel was not strong enough to get any magical sense of the spirit itself. Had Dirtharevas not acted strangely, he would never have known there was a spirit at all.

The councilor said he would keep looking. In the meantime, in a sad reversal, he advised Dirtharevas to aide Lindel in his duties.

“You said you don’t remember your friend’s name?” Lindel said, thinking about the meeting and the conversation in the Crossroads.

“She did not have one. Her name was a feeling. I do not feel anymore.”

“Oh,” Lindel said and searched for something else to say. “Are you ready to have Garas try to help you?”

“Reversing Tranquility requires summoning a spirit to possess me. I was possessed before and it caused me harm. It might do so again. I do not know if that would be a good idea.”

“Don’t you want to connect with the Fade again?” Lindel asked. It had not occurred to him that Dirtharevas might feel otherwise.

“I am not certain,” he said, completing the last dish and moving to pots and pans.

Lindel quietly finished drying the dishes and wondered what would happen if a Tranquil entered the Fade.

 

 


	15. Teach me to forget myself

Solas had not been completely honest with the Council. There was nothing for him to do at the tower. He was more than ready to place the anchors and complete the spell. He stayed to give Garas time to help Dirtharevas and to give Vir time to heal from her injuries.

Garas had come to see him several times in the past few days to ask his advice. Finding a spirit willing to possess a Tranquil would not be easy and he claimed he worried for the spirit’s health as well. It was a gratifying change in that man’s disposition regarding spirits. He allowed Garas to peruse his bookshelves for anything that might aide him.

Vir had not come to see him since he left her quarters. She had spent the following night drinking with Inan. He spared a moment of sympathy for the former as Inan’s questions were no doubt embarrassing. He spared a moment of pity for the latter as Vir’s head for alcohol was legendary. Inan had to be carried back to her quarters with the help of Abelas and one of his scouts.

They had not discussed it, but Vir seemed to understand his quandary. His memories were no longer entirely his own and thus the truth of his feelings were uncertain. Having little else to do and many reasons to do it, he began to sort through what Cole had given him.

Under normal circumstances it would not be difficult to separate himself from the emotions bestowed by a spirit in the Fade. But these were not normal circumstances. 

Each person was unique, the way they reacted to attraction, loss, or injustice, was built from their own lives and experiences. To feel the anger of betrayal as Loghain Mac Tir abandoned King Cailan at Ostagar, was quite separate from how he had personally experienced betrayal and utterly different from his own feelings about the man.

These memories and the feelings that came with them, they were his, but not his. The man who had felt them had lived thousands of years in the same body. Had committed the same errors. Learned and loved the same things. They had even felt the same anger at the Inquisitor from their timeline. So similar were their circumstances that he could not help but believe he felt the same. He wondered then if untangling it all was impossible.

He looked for differences. He watched the Inquisitor punch him, knowing how he felt at that moment. The memories knew it too, but they also felt humor and regret for reasons he did not understand. He did not have those memories. Her Hope had walked at her side for ten thousand years. It was no wonder that the depth of his feeling were so strong.

In some ways he wished Cole had finished, but he remembered how he had felt himself slipping away. He might not have survived the process or truly known who he was when it finished. Even as frustrating as it was now, he was glad to be himself.

“You could make yourself forget,” Cole said. The spirit was standing near the books Vir had written. Solas wondered how long he had been listening.

“I could,” he agreed. It was the simplest solution.

“You want to hold on to them. You want to preserve them for her.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“You like knowing what it feels like to love her.”

Something about the way Cole phrased it made him wince. As if he were a thief or a voyeur, coveting something not his. “When she spoke of her Hope the first time, I asked her if she loved him. She lied and it threw us from the Fade. I envied him. To know a love strong enough that denial of it could shake the Fade itself. Now I fear that I am seeking something that I can never match or worse, that I will feel nothing at all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Cole. From the first dream, I should have searched for a spirit. Pushing you away as I did, hurt you as well.”

Cole tilted his head, listening. “He knew her fist was hard, but not that her hand was cold.”

“What?” Solas asked.

“He walked at her side. She was the ghost, but he was the one no one could see. They were never in the same time at the same place. They loved, not touched.”

His first dream of Vir. The dream of a warm embrace and a cold hand against his back. “That wasn’t you?” Solas said. “Then where did it come from?”

Cole stared at him for a moment then disappeared.

* * *

Garas placed the last column at equidistant points on a circle drawn out on the floor. The former mage, Dirtharevas, stood at the center, observing silently.

“Dirtharevas,” he said, conversationally. “I am going to try to summon your friend. I believe after reading your journals and Fen’Harel’s references I know what she was: a spirit of Curiosity. Given that, I think she would want to help you if she can be led to this place. What do you think?”

“I do not know if that is a good idea.”

“Do you not want to see your friend again?”

“I remember that being here hurt her.”

“If she runs into trouble, we can send her away. I promise, I will do whatever I can to keep you both safe.”

Dirtharevas did not answer. He had no further thoughts on the matter and he never seemed to have objections.

Garas had found notes in Dirtharevas’s rooms for summoning the spirit. He hoped it was the same spirit that had possessed Dirtharevas at the crater. He hoped the Templars had merely banished and not killed it.

While there was always the possibility that the spell would not work or that it would summon something else, using it was still Garas’s best option. He recreated the diagrams carefully with some small alterations.

“I did not bind her,” Dirtharevas said, watching him draw patterns on the floor.

“This is only for our safety,” Garas reassured him. “I will not command her to do anything against her wishes.”

Dirtharevas lapsed into silence again.

 

* * *

Vir paced the empty practice grounds. Her eyes scanned the enclosed space. Early dawn had turned the sky orange and pink, but the light of sunrise had not yet reached the dusty courtyard. Lanterns, newly added, illuminated the space instead.

When she had first arrived the practice grounds were nearly unused. What training it did see was in magic and thus it required nothing but space. Mages, of course, could provide their own lights.

Now, in addition to the lanterns, there were pells set off to the side. Columns of wooden logs set at different heights had been constructed to her specifications. A wide array of practice weapons, suitable to most any style of combat, waited in a rack next to the entrance.

She had not realized it at the time, but she had made the tower her home. She wondered what Solas had thought of her changes, if he thought of them at all.

She tested her left shoulder. Despite it being her weaker side and technically only half an arm, her prosthetics gave her advantages that she never hesitated to exploit. She had come to rely heavily on her grappling arm and climbing pick especially. Unfortunately, both put a large amount of strain on her shoulder. Jumping out of a window with a much heavier person had proved too much for it. Or perhaps she was simply getting old. Solas had done an excellent job of healing it. There was little sign that there had ever been an injury. Except for pain, but she could handle pain.

Vir had not expected anyone to join her. The tower had emptied of all but Solas’s people: a handful of guards, some attendants, and Abelas’s scouts. Those who remained were occupied with their duties or preparing to move when their work was complete. There was little need for combat training of the kind that she could offer, so it surprised her to hear soft footsteps behind her. She turned to find Lindel holding a practice weapon of his own.

He had been avoiding her since they returned. Not difficult given the duties he had taken over, but she had attempted to speak with him and he was always busy or unavailable when she asked. He needed time to sort through his feelings. She seemed to have that effect on people.

“Inan said you talk when spar,” he said, holding his wooden sword in guard position.

“We do,” she said, nodding for him to begin.

“Why?” he asked and began the basic sparring drill she had taught him.

“It’s easier to talk about difficult things when when your hands have something to do. Also, if you’re talking to someone who wants to hit you, it’s a good excuse to wear armor.” Lindel faltered for a moment. “Do you want to hit me, Lindel?”

“Maybe,” he said, moving to the next set. “Why is it so easy for you?”

“It’s not,” she said. “I’ve been training to fight nearly my whole life.”

“I meant killing.”

“Oh,” she said, absently swatting the side of his leg to correct his stance. “I suppose, when I kill people I don’t think of them as people. I think of them as objects, obstacles mostly.”

“But you don’t just kill your enemies,” Lindel said, sweating now as she forced him to block a succession of blows. “You send people to die for you. Doesn’t it bother you?”

She backed off, giving him a chance to catch his breath. “It does.”

He panted with the effort, but he motioned for her to continue. “Then how can you do it?”

“What would you suggest instead?” she asked as she resumed her attack.

“Talking,” he said instantly. “I know it sounds naive, but the elvhen were as warlike as humans before the Veil. Some of the elvhen on the Council fought against each other for hundreds of years. Now they talk. It can work.”

Vir nodded and they sparred in silence while she thought about her answer. “Several years ago, the Venatori sent their agents to Wycome. Their goal was to poison the wells with red lyrium, creating more of their abominations. The humans got sick, but the elves in the alienage did not. Humans couldn’t just sneak into the alienage to poison their wells, you see, they would certainly have been noticed. As you might imagine, the humans growing sicker by the day saw healthy elves and thought the worst.”

Fascinated by her story, his guard became lax. She slapped it aside and struck to kill, stopping just before her hit would land. He backed away, acknowledging his mistake, and made ready again.

“My clan was nearby,” she continued. “Hostilities against both them and the elves in the city grew. We sent an ambassador to investigate and my advisor, Josephine, insisted that the woman had the skills to find a peaceful solution. Instead, I sent assassins to kill the Venatori agent. Had I not, my entire clan would have been destroyed.”

“You can’t be certain of that,” he protested.

Vir feinted to his weak side. As he moved to meet the blow, she whipped her practice blade around faster than he could get his guard back up. The shock of her weapon against his arm was enough to make him drop his sword. “Let’s just say that my past experience has taught me not to fall for an easy feint. It has also taught me that there can be no peaceful solution when someone simply wants you dead.”

He picked up his sword, but did not resume sparring. “I saw what happened in the crater. I know how our people felt when they died. I know the fanaticism of your agent. I know the fear of the humans who were caught in the blast as they retreated. They all fought each other, but they knew it was you behind everything.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably as he attempted to put voice to his internal struggle. “You allied with the Templars, they use a ritual that cuts us off from the Fade. It’s worse than death, worse than torture. I don’t want to believe that these terrible things were necessary. But if I don’t, then everyone was right about you.”

Vir lowered her sword. “What? That I’m a monster? The Banal’ras. That was never in question.”

He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But then, why all this? Why would a monster try to help us? What is it you want?”

“I want to do the right thing and I want to save my people,” she answered. “But wanting is not the same thing as doing. I don’t pretend that my intentions make anything I do acceptable, but being a good person can’t bring back the dead. If ‘the right thing’ does not lead to the survival of my people then I have to make a choice. I choose them. Every time. If that makes me a monster, then being a monster is a small price to pay.”

“That... doesn’t sound like something a monster would say,” he said.

She smiled. “I’ll let you in on a secret: that’s how we monsters hide.”

“Things were simpler before,” he said, defeated.

She raised a skeptical brow. “There once was a guard who plotted to kill an unarmed prisoner because he believed it would save his people.”

He flushed and looked away.

“Things were never simple and it only gets more complicated when you try to make a difference.”

He shook his head. “You’re right. I need to think about all of this,” he said turning to leave and racking his sword by the entrance. “For what it’s worth,” he said, pausing under the stone arch. “I think if you are a monster you’re not a very good one.”

Vir watched him go. It was the nicest thing anyone had said about her in a long time.

 


	16. For death remember'd should be like a mirror

The summoning spell was more intricate than the others Garas had seen in the past. He did not usually bother with casting circles and drawn diagrams.

There was something artificial about constructed magic that he never cared for. Sometimes it was useful. Eluvians required power and calculation to not tear the traveler apart when moving great distances. But generally he felt that magic was an instinct and an art. Even the great works like eluvians and wells of power should be taught by masters to the worthy, not learned from books. Diagrams and calculations were for the dwarves.

Garas held his staff before him. The simple twists of natural oak masked the intricate carvings that he himself had added. He touched the face of an owl hidden among the swirls resembling leaves, a dedication to his master. They would meet again soon.

Passing through the cursed Veil, his mind melded with the Fade and walked the paths of the diagram charted in chalk at his feet. He called for the spirit Dirtharevas had befriended.

“Curiosity,” he whispered as the final invocation.

Dirtharevas has stood almost perfectly still as the spell was cast. He watched with that hollow gaze that saw only flesh not spirit. At the call of the name his eyes closed without prompting. He breathed deeply, once, twice, his eyes opened.

The wooden features of his face became lively once again. His eyes scanned the scene before him rapidly, searching, seeing. They settled on him.

“Why am I bound?” Dirtharevas’s lips moved. His voice emerged. But it was not him speaking.

“Welcome back, Dirtharevas. Are you in there? Or am I speaking to your friend?”

“I asked first,” he said.

Garas smiled. “So you did,” he said. “I have some questions for you, that is all. After that, I will release you and our friend, Dirtharevas, will be back to normal.”

Neither spirit nor man answered.

“You told Lindel about a field of mirrors. I would like to know more about them.”

“You are like all the others,” Curiosity said. “You take power for yourself, binding it, guarding it jealously, believing that you have control. You control nothing.” The sneer was not an expression Garas had seen Dirtharevas make before. “But I will tell you because you seek answers just as I do. The mirrors are Fen’Harel’s creation. He took all the powers of the world and sealed it behind his own reflection. But his creation is not perfect. That is why those who remember can sense its flaws.”

“I am not one of the Dread Wolf’s blind followers. Tell me where these mirrors are. We can release the powers within and put the world back to rights again.”

“I do not know,” the spirit said. “The boy, Lindel, disabled Dirtharevas before I could see. They are in the Fade and they are tied to two lives.”

“Two?” Garas repeated in surprise. “Fen’Harel and?”

“The one who bore his mark. She is bound to the mirrors. She knows what they are. Set us free and we can destroy her together.”

Garas shook his head regretfully. “I fear I cannot let you do that.”

Curiosity laughed.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You only bound me, not him,” Curiosity said. “And I was not talking to you.” Dirtharevas smiled.

Garas looked at the floor. The restored mage had scuffed the bindings drawn in chalk. A wave of heat and a flash of light were all he knew as darkness took him.

* * *

Solas felt the Fade around him shiver. Only a blast of raw power could do that. He left his office at a run, heading for the source of the disturbance.

He and several others converged at the door to a work chamber. Inan, Abelas, a few guards, and Bishali who was followed by Lindel, even though he had not sensed anything. The door stood open and Garas lay face down at the back of the workroom. The ends of his long hair were singed and he appeared to have been thrown several feet from the circle drawn in the center of the room.

Solas noted the design in passing, but ran to the councilor’s side. Garas moaned as Solas rolled him over. Bishali knelt beside them and began healing.

“Dirtharevas,” he said, not opening his eyes.

“He is gone,” Solas replied.

“The Inquisitor,” Garas said, struggling to sit up. “He’s going to kill the Inquisitor.”

Cold fear seized Solas's heart. He stood. “We have to find them. Where is she?”

“She was at the practice grounds,” Lindel answered.

“I will go there,” he said. “The rest of you split up and search for Dirtharevas. Go!” he barked as he ran for the door. He did not bother to see if anyone followed his orders. He only had one goal in mind.

* * *

Vir did not want to think about her friends. Not about Solas, Lindel, or Inan. She had hurt them and lied to them and used them. But they still helped her. Still cared for her. She should be grateful, but all she felt was unworthy and angry at herself.

Vir did not want to think about Cole. She had wished that her Hope had fought to stay with her. Now she knew that he had and it hurt everyone in the process.

Vir did not want to think about Dirtharevas. If she had dismantled the Templars or left them to their fate and rescued the mages instead, the mage would not be Tranquil.

So Vir did not want to think. Instead she fought because it was simpler. She fought shadows and imaginary targets. She dodged spells and arrows, predicting all the ways her enemies would strike. She fought until her muscles ached and her aim was unsteady. She fought until she stood, panting in exhaustion, barely able to lift her blade.

There were no sounds in the deserted courtyard except that of her own breathing. There was no motion other than her arms lifted above her head in a slow and aching stretch. She felt nothing, not even a breeze. But something smelled of burnt silk and Vir forced her tired body to dive purely by reflex.

The bolt of lightning missed.

“Hello, Inquisitor,” Dirtharevas said.

* * *

Vir rolled desperately as the mage struck again. The bolt missed, but a smaller arc jumped to the metal cap that covered her stump. The lyrium within it heated, burning her. She saved her breathe for running and managed not to scream. She struggled to her feet and ran toward the exit.

“Where are you going?” Dirtharevas asked.

An invisible hand grabbed her and tossed her against the wall. She got back up, rolling and stumbling her way toward the stone arch. She caught sight of the mage lifting his arms again. In desperation she attacked, throwing four blades in rapid succession. With her aim currently questionable, she hoped that one would hit. Two with deadly poisons missed. One bounced harmlessly off his shield. The last, lyrium hilted and laced with tranquilizers, sliced through and lodged in his shoulder.

It only made him angry.

Vir found energy from somewhere and ran for the stairs. She fumbled for the rune-key Solas had given her days before. She had not yet returned it. If she could get to his office, she could enable his wards even if he wasn’t there. The only problem with that plan was one hundred spiral steps.

Dirtharevas seemed to know where she was going. She was only halfway there when he caught up with her. He was no longer the anxious, hesitant man who had debated everything but forced nothing. Whatever spirit had touched his mind to reconnect him with the Fade now lent him strength and fueled his rage.

“Inquisitor, I want to ask you some questions. Your allies questioned me so thoroughly. They wanted to know about the temples of my masters. About artifacts and lost power. When I did not know the right answers, they asked a little harder. Here, let me show you their techniques,” he said throwing her against the wall.

Vir saw the landing to her own quarters. She dove for it. Stumbling and sometimes crawling toward the door to her room.

“Oh, I don’t think Fen’Harel is still in there,” he said mildly. “Your lover will not save you.”

She timed her steps to his casting. Dodging a lash of power, by simply falling to her knees. An unlocked door to an unused chamber lay to her left. She shoved through it and ran in.

“This is not your room,” Dirtharevas said entering the doorway.

Vir pushed herself the last few steps. Knocking the cover off a box that stood alone in a corner. She laid her shaking hand on five points to trigger the device. The shield sprung up around her with such force it pinned Dirtharevas against the wall.

“Wretched mortal,” he screeched. “You are the heart of the world’s corruption. Each cycle and the world decays further. I have seen a thousands repetitions of the sundering. I remember. I REMEMBER.” He struggled against the wall, against the shield, but his body was weakening. His shoulder bled sluggishly, the blade lodging deeper as he fought to free himself. The poison finally began to take effect. His eyes drooped.

Vir dragged herself closer. “You remember?” she asked.

“The other spirits do not, but I do,” he said weakly.

“I’m sorry,” Vir said.

“Abomination,” he replied.

“Vir!” Solas called from the stairwell.  
  
“In here!” she yelled.

Solas appeared in the doorway outside the shield. Dirtharevas struggled weakly, hissing at him, but said nothing.

“It’s ok,” Vir said. “The tranq will put him out.” She gasped for breath and winced holding her side. “You can deal with him then.”

Solas nodded, his gaze switching back and forth between them.

Garas limped to the doorway. “Dirtharevas,” he said.

The mage turned toward the door, but his head drooped so he could only glower at the newcomer. “You. Binder, deceiver, I know who you serve.” Dirtharevas turned to Vir and raised his hand. A spark glittered on his fingertips.

Garas did not give him a chance to act. A bolt of power hit the weakened man and spirit both, incinerating them on the spot.

Vir stared in horror at the charred silk and blackened coal. All that remained of the possessed mage.

Solas took down the shield and ran to her side.

Garas paced into the room, examining the man shaped pattern of soot on the wall. Vir ignored Solas as he knelt beside her and launched herself at Garas’s back.

“What did you do!” she yelled. He turned in time to catch her punch directly on his chin. He staggered backward, his face bleeding. “He was pinned to the wall and poisoned,” she shouted, nearly falling herself as her muscles failed. Arms wrapped around her from behind, preventing any further assault, but also holding her up.

“Vir,” Solas cautioned. She felt his shields extend around her. She struggled anyway.

“Control your creature, Fen’Harel,” Garas said rubbing his jaw. A deep scratch ran the length of it. “That demon attacked me. You think it was growing weak, but it was just trying to trick you as it tricked me. I was not going to give it a second chance.”

“Call her a creature again,” Solas said, still holding her up, “and there will be consequences.”

“She assaulted me after I saved her life,” Garas said. “She is fortunate I do not call a challenge.”

“She is my guest,” Solas replied, calmly. His arms tightened as if urging her to stay quiet. “If you called a challenge I would take her place as her champion.”

“You would strike me down for your plaything?” Garas asked.

“He’s not the only one, Garas,” Inan said, mildly. "And you would have difficulty finding a second." The others stood beside her in the doorway. No one spoke for him.

It seemed Garas had forgotten that most of his supporters had left. Inan had not.

“I believe your people are waiting for your... leadership at home, Councilor. You should return to them. There is nothing more for you here.”

Garas wiped at his face again, glared at Vir, and left, forcing a path through the others who crowded at the door.

Solas directed the attendants to clean up and the guards to see that Garas left peacefully. Inan raised her brow at the pair of them then left them alone again.

* * *

“You can let go now,” Vir said, dully.

Solas could tell by the weight of her in his arms that she would only fall if he did. Instead he picked her up and carried her to her room. She was covered in sweat and dust from the fight and her earlier exertions. He placed her on the couch and began to tend to her injuries.

Vir stared far away as tears leaked from her eyes. She sniffled. “I didn’t want to kill him,” she said.

He sighed. There would be time enough to go over what had happened. “Your ribs are bruised,” he said, trying to distract her.

“My entire body is bruised,” she replied.

“You need to undress,” he said, remembering how she had used a changing screen after their fight. “I can get Bishali, if you want.”

“Coward,” she said.

He shook his head, but stripped her down with care for her injuries. She was bruised from shoulder to hip. New burns marred the area around her prosthetic cap. Horizontal welts crossed her shins spaced at intervals the same as the height of the stairs. More burns dotted the backs of her thighs.

He held her ankle and pressed his hand against her calf, sending healing where strain and injury had made it cramp.

“Your face is very red,” she commented, not smiling, but he could see the hint of humor in her tired eyes.

“So is yours,” he noted and focused on healing.

“I was beaten,” she said. “What’s your excuse?”

“You are very attractive, even when you are injured,” he answered simply. He looked up and was pleased to see her turning a deeper shade.

“That’s unprofessional, healer,” she said, but the corner of her mouth turned up.

He cleared his throat. “The device you used. I built it for the elvhen who may have been too weak to withstand the Veil’s removal this close to the epicenter. I only finished crafting them the night before you first arrived. I never told anyone.”

He did not ask, but she answered the obvious question. “Before he found the solution, my Hope tried to convince me to save myself. He told me about the shields, where they were and how to use them.” She smiled and sighed. “I guess he saved me again. My original plan was to sneak past your wards and destroy or steal your orb.”

“It would have killed you,” he said, trying to mask the fear her words created.

“I know,” she said as if she found it funny. “Designed specifically to kill me if I touched it. I’m flattered, really. Not even a Darkspawn Magister gets such precautions. Anyway, he wanted me to use the device instead. I would survive the end of my world then he would come and find me.

Despite all her Hope had known of her, at least he knew she would never give up that way. He said as much.

She nodded. “I had not come that far just to stand by and let my world end. I would die fighting or I would succeed.”

“We are all fortunate for that,” he said and reached for her hand.

A rough edge drew his curious glance. She had been holding something the whole time. Her fist had been clamped so tightly around it, she had difficulty letting it go. It was the reason her punch cut Garas’s face. She loosened her grip with effort.

“Your rune-key, I never gave it back,” she said, holding it out to him. “I was going to use your wards if you weren’t there.”

He looked down at her hand and folded her fingers back around it. “Keep it,” he said, holding her hand in both of his, “just in case.”

 


	17. Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow

The fight with Dirtharevas had reinjured Vir’s shoulder. It was one among a number of injuries she suffered that day. She was currently sleeping off hours of healing and a mildly alarming number of concoctions she insisted on drinking.

Solas was using the time to sort through more of the memories Cole had given him. It was confusing. They were out of order, some without context, it was no wonder Cole had forgotten himself when he took them.

In this memory, Solas wandered through the halls of a fine manor in Orlais. He caught sight of an elf wearing a pink silk robe. He knew it was Vir despite only seeing the back of her head. The feeling of love and admiration behind the memories confirmed the identification.

She untied the belt and pushed the garment away from her shoulders. The fabric slid down her body falling to pool around her ankles. Beneath it she was wearing what he could only describe as a set of leather belts that wrapped around her torso, waist, and thighs.

She turned toward him and he could see that the belts were part of a harness. It wrapped under and around her breasts, accentuating without covering. The belts around her waist and thighs secured a triangle of leather that sported an enormous golden phallus. The head of which was carved to resemble an orlesian mask. Smiling, of course.

“What are we doing here?” Vir asked from behind him.

He jumped as she came to stand at his side.

“Oh,” she said, seeing herself.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, turning away quickly.

“No, don’t turn that way!” she exclaimed.

It was too late. In this new direction, he saw a human, an older orlesian woman, reclining on a pile of pillows. She wore a mask and nothing else.

“Augh,” he said and turned away again.

Vir pinched the bridge of her nose as the harness-wearing version walked past them.

His mouth began speaking without checking with his brain. In his defense, he was trying his best not to look and failing miserably. “It never occurred to me when you said that you had many loves, that one was a woman.”

“What?” she said. “This isn’t one of my... no... this is a transaction.”  
  
“A transaction?” he repeated. “Why would you purchase...”

“No,” she said, exasperated. “That’s Minister Bellise. I needed her to support the elevation of the Du Paraquettes back to nobility.”

“So you...” he trailed off as Vir began speaking orlesian softly. Her words an absolutely filthy description of what she was about to do. His mouth opened and closed, but even unchecked no words were available.

“You rogue,” the Minister said and slapped her. The sound echoed loudly.

Vir only laughed, a purr Solas had never heard in person, and did something that made the other woman gasp.

“Can you make this go away,” the Vir beside him asked.

He could, but he was likely to only find something similar in nature. At least, in his current frame of mind. He grabbed her hand instead. “Here, come with me,” he said leading her out of the room.

“That... is a terrible choice of words,” Vir muttered, allowing herself to be led as the minister’s gasps turned to moans and shouted curses. They ran.

He released her hand once they were outside and slowed to a walk. “Do you want to talk about this?” Solas asked as they ambled through the deserted streets. For all that she had not wanted to be there, she did not seem embarrassed by the situation or him seeing it.

She shrugged. “There was a hundred year old contract to kill Josephine. The only way to terminate it was to get the family of the ones who signed it to rescind. And for whatever snobby orlesian reason, they had to be nobility. Long story,” she said.

Solas had been isolated from the rest of the Inquisition in his time. Only hearing vaguely of an attempt on Josephine’s life. His spies had reported that the Inquisitor had done something to resolve it, but they could not determine what. Now he understood why it had been a secret.

“And this minister required you to... perform for her?” he asked, a spark of outrage beginning.

“Nah,” Vir said, shaking her head. “I could’ve offered her Inquisition military support or use of our spies.”

“But you chose to do this instead?” He looked over his shoulder at the building they had left.

She leveled her gaze at him. “I have offered Cullen’s forces before. She uses them to harass a petty rival. One man was killed, two of our men were injured, and a farmer lost half his herd. When I offered Leliana’s spies, she used them to blackmail another rival who was hiding a daughter. A mage. The daughter ran away and died in the woods. We never figured out how.” She pointed behind her with her thumb. “No one gets hurt this way.”

He stopped walking and faced her. “Except you,” he said.

She waved her hand dismissing her own discomfort. “You thought I would do anything for power. I guess you can add whoring to the list.” Her tone was light, but she would not look at him.

He put his finger under her chin, urging her to look up. “This was not for power and I was wrong to think that about you. I’m so sorry I put you through this. I wish I could find a way to make it up to you.”

She smiled at his words and he stared at her mouth. Thinking at that moment that there was never a more perfect pair of lips. He felt himself leaning toward her, then stopped, uncertainty growing.

She saw it and reached up to touch his cheek. “You are,” she assured him and disappeared.

* * *

Solas and Vir said their goodbyes to the last group to leave the tower. Lindel and Bishali had gone the day before. Abelas, Inan, and their scouts gathered by an eluvian set to a familiar area of the Crossroads. They would continue their search for more of their people until the spell was cast.

Vir said personal goodbyes to half the scouts. Many of them she had trained herself and some she had rescued in the Brecilian forest not long ago. There were grasped forearms and a few hugs that lifted the smaller elf off her feet. There were no tears at this parting. It was not goodbye, after all, merely good luck and safe travels.

Athim had been offered to lead a squad of scouts for Abelas. He accepted the position and had been quickly adopted by their people. He approached Vir and shyly requested to speak with her privately.

They moved off from the group, Vir listening while he spoke. Solas watched them, wondering if things would be different for them if he were not there. Vir offered her hand. Athim grasped it and placed a kiss on her palm. He bowed and rejoined the group. His feelings for her were no secret and many of the scouts clapped him on the back sympathetically before they went through the portal.

“Jealous?” Inan asked.

“No,” Solas said. There was no place for him to be jealous, though there were times he envied Athim’s clarity.

She watched Vir from afar. “Strange how we ended up where we are, isn’t it? I never would have thought when I arrived that the woman I came to kill would become my closest friend.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “And the two of you, no one could have predicted that.”

Solas sighed. “Are you going to start this again?”

Inan shook her head, growing surprisingly serious. “I promised her that I would not pester you. I shall keep my word, but I say again, she is my closest friend. I owe her everything for saving Abelas. I know there is much between you to untangle and I know that you questioned having a relationship with a mortal. So please, Fen’Harel, be kind to her. She loves you.”

“I am surprised there is no ‘or else’ attached to your words,” he said lightly to cover his discomfort.

Inan did not join him in joking. “I don’t need to threaten you. You are the one who stands to lose everything.”

She offered her wrist. He clasped it and she returned the gesture with none of the painful posturing she had when she first arrived. She walked over to Vir and scooped her up in a hug that drew a muffled cry of protest from the Inquisitor. Inan kissed her forehead and whispered something in the smaller woman’s ear. Vir groaned, covering her face with her hand. The tall elf laughed and disappeared through the eluvian.

Solas closed the portal. The light shrank to a point leaving nothing but a slightly warped reflection of the last two people in the courtyard.

Vir turned and walked the short distance to where he waited. “Ready to go?” she asked.

“Not quite yet. There is something I may need to do first. Come,” he said, leading her into the tower, “there is something we need to discuss.”

* * *

They settled in his office where Vir had already brought her traveling gear. The most recent book she had been working on lay scattered on the couch in the form of a notebook and several loose pages. He sat at his desk and watched as she cleared herself a space to sit down.

Solas grappled with the best way to begin and decided to be direct. “I have feeling for you,” he said, attempting to remove the awkwardness of such a statement by saying it plainly.

“But they’re not yours,” she finished for him.

“No. I do not know what my feelings are. I have tried to separate the two. I am unable.”

“Uh huh,” she said as if he were talking about floral arrangements.

“I think it would be best if I made myself forget the memories that Cole gave me.”

She considered the idea for a moment. “Alright.”

“You don’t mind?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It’s your head. You should do what’s best for it.” She paused, growing suspicious. “Wait, are you going to forget everything we discussed about the eluvian field and what happened to me?”

He shook his head. “No, only the memories that are not mine. Anything I have actually lived through will remain.” He struggled to explain it. “For instance, I will remember that Cole attempted to give me your Hope’s memories, but I will not know what they were. I will still know that your Hope was an alternate version of me, but I will not know how he felt about you.”

She sighed with relief. “Good, because I’m not going to have that conversation with you again. Once per Solas. That’s my limit.”

He chuckled, feeling disappointed, but once again uncertain that it was truly his feeling. “It may take some time. I will need to sleep.”

“Do you need me to do anything?”

“No. I was just warning you that you may be alone for a few days.”

She laughed. “Did you already forget who you’re talking to?”

He stood. The door behind his desk led to his personal chambers. He looked over his shoulder as he left and saw that Vir had already turned to her writing.

* * *

Solas woke, feeling thirsty and weak. A pitcher of water, a cup, and a covered plate sat on the table next to his bed. He drained the first cup without setting it down.

The tower was empty of people. Most of the food that remained was in the form of field rations or raw ingredients that kept well. Curious, he uncovered the plate and found it held a batch of chocolate covered pastries. They were not like the ones he had been served before, but they were also not oatbars and his stomach urged him to take advantage.

He bit into the pastry. A cherry tart, but unlike any he had ever tasted. He closed his eyes in bliss as a shamefully loud moan emerged involuntarily from his lips. If Vir were outside she would certainly hear him. He decided not to care.

As he suspected, Vir knocked on the door a few moments later. “Come in,” he said around a mouthful of tart.

She peeked inside and smiled when she saw the plate. She wrestled a padded armchair over to his side and sat down folding her legs beneath her. “You’ve been asleep for two days,” she said without prompting. “How do you feel?”

“Where,” he said, ignoring her question and taking another bite, “did you get these?”

She laughed. “I made them,” she said with pardonable pride.

He paused with another piece halfway to his lips. “I suppose in ten thousand years you would have time to accrue some hobbies. I apologize if this comment is rude given your kindness, but I would not have guessed baking.”

Her face grew serious. “That, my dear Dread Wolf, was not a hobby, but a very important strategic endeavor. A recipe evolved and improved over several centuries.” At his confusion, she explained. “I told you. I tried everything to convince you that we were worth saving. I do mean everything.”

“You attempted to bribe me with cherry tarts?” he asked incredulously.

“Not bribe,” she said, insulted. “It was a part of a greater effort to show the possibilities and benefits of the material realm.” She sighed. “I was desperate. Those were the earlier years when I believed there was something that I, personally, could do. But at least you admitted you had never tasted anything like it in the Fade or anywhere else.” Her gaze grew distant, remembering what was likely a bittersweet memory.

He chewed thoughtfully. “And it didn’t work? I was fool,” he mused.

She gazed at him intently, searching his face for signs of something. She smiled. “Welcome back, my friend.”

“What do you mean?”

“After Cole, everything you said or did with me was hesitant,” she explained. “You didn’t know what you wanted. You no longer knew yourself.”

She had never described his problem so succinctly before.

“I didn’t know you either,” she continued. “Did you say something because you remembered loving me or did you say it because you meant it?” She tilted her head examining him further. “You always looked at my lips when we spoke. Always one raw impulse from kissing me again.” She bit her lip. “It was very hard not to rip your clothes off,” she confessed, startling a laugh from him. “Now you’re you again and I am glad.”

“As am I,” he said. “And I thank you for your restraint.”

She stood solemnly and bowed. “Just do not test my willpower again.” She straightened wagging her brows at him. “Even I have my limits.”

She left him alone with his pastries. He ate, smiling, knowing that everything in this experience was his.

 


	18. What conjuration and what mighty magic

Magic should always be like this. Solas thought. It was music, sung by the mind and heard by the heart. The perfect union of the two. The last time he felt magic’s song so perfectly was just before he cast the Veil. He thought he was saving his people. Now he was trying again and he hoped that this time he could save them in truth.

While removing the Veil entirely could have been done from his tower or any location within its reach, manipulating it in the manner that he planned required a more strategic location.

Activating the devices to measure the Veil was absolutely necessary for precision in a spell of this nature and scale. Still, once calculated, he realized the general locations of the anchor point and spell should have been obvious. The Frostback mountains, each placed an equal distance apart, with Skyhold at its center. It was, after all, the origin point of the Veil.

Each anchor point required slightly different methods of construction. The first required craft. The hardest part was setting the foundation for the other two. Mistakes in the first point would mean failure in the rest.

The second required patience. He would have to gather the Veil carefully to not disturb the magic of the first.

The third required strength. The other two points would fight him for the Veil and he would have to use his orb and his own power to create the final anchor. Once complete they would reinforce each other, drawing power from the Fade through the Veil. In theory.

The first point was an effort of only a few hours, though they stayed longer to ensure that it was right. Vir had not disturbed him during that time, but seemed to be on hand as soon as he looked as if he needed something.

She made sure that he was safe and cared for him when the fatigue of casting caught up with him. He trusted her to do her part so that he could do his, an ally and a true friend. While he was glad he could say that without reservations, he knew that he had felt something more before and now he no longer did. Vir had not asked. It was likely she already knew.

He knelt in the snow at the second location. While he cast, he would not feel the elements, a claim that Vir had found difficult to believe. In anticipation of his needs, she built up a fire nearby and prepared a rest area for him to use when he was finished or before if necessary. Then she left him alone to his work. He closed his eyes and began.

The Veil unraveled at his direction. He gathered its threads into strings, tuned strings to new notes. The anchor was an instrument that gave the Veil a new song. He touched each string in turn holding them in place until precisely the right moment. There. He struck the final chord and the Veil carried it away. The first anchor replied in harmony. Perfect.

He sighed in satisfaction, but examined his work critically. The spell was so elegant, he wished he had thought of it. He supposed he would have if given several thousand years to try. The crafting in contrast had only taken a full day. Not long when compared to the great works of old, but certainly an test of endurance for mortal mages. He wondered, as he disengaged himself from the spell, what Vir had done to occupy herself while she waited. He opened his eyes and was confronted with a vision of himself.

His face, anyway. His own head stood rendered in ice and snow, not far from where he knelt. A sculpture that was at least as tall as he. It was a startlingly accurate likeness except for it being cross-eyed. The eyes had even been colored with different shades of blue, streaked with purple and pink, giving it an almost lifelike appearance from a distance. Upon closer inspection, he discovered they were berries. The splash of color amid all the white emphasized the silly expression which, no doubt, was the artist’s intent.

The fire had been renewed several times already and a small pile of logs waited to feed it further if necessary. He made his way to the rest area where he found food and drink, kept warm or at least kept from freezing, by proximity to the fire. The spell had not drained as much from him as the first despite taking longer. Once restored, he stood and went in search of his wayward ice sculptor.

* * *

Vir stood near the top of the switch back trail that led further down the mountain. Not far from it was a cave that held the eluvian they had used to reach their position. Far below them, a green ocean, the tops of the massive tree canopies that sheltered the Frostback Basin.

She wore a prosthetic that looked liked a small shovel with metal fingers at the top. The perfect tool for ice carving. Solas stole up behind her, masking his approach with magic and the cover of a small pile of boulders. He launched an icy projectile at her back. The ball of snow raced toward her, seemingly unaware. At the last moment she dropped to the ground twisting as she fell, dodging the missile with ease. She continued her roll, regaining her feet and scooping up snow of her own in one smooth motion. Another turn catapulted the ball toward him, the additional leverage afforded by her metal arm gave her snowball greater velocity. He hastily threw up a shield and the ball disintegrated harmlessly against it.

Her teeth flashed in a taunting smile. He accepted the unspoken challenge and pulled snow from the ground and launched it at her. She dashed toward him, slicing through the storm as she ran. She veered to the the side, using the boulders as a launching point and leaped over him. He watched her flip over his head, at once admiring her agility while also timing her jump so that he could knock her over at the last moment.

That was the plan, except that as she passed over him, she reached out with her prosthetic, pulled open the back of his coat, and shoved a handful of snow down his shirt.

“Eeueueueeee,” he squealed as he danced around trying to rid himself of the icy invasion.

Vir gracefully landed on her feet behind him, but was laughing so hard she collapsed. She rolled around covering herself with more ice than he had managed in their snow fight. He glared at her as the remnants of her attack melted, turning to a damp that would freeze in the wind, repeating the process again at a later time.

“I have never heard you or anyone else make that noise before. Not ever, not in ten thousand years,” she said, holding her sides.

“I am so pleased to have entertained you,” he said, watching her try to get up. Every time she looked at him she would fall back and remain a pile of helpless giggles.

Finally the hysterics eased and she was able to sit up and wipe the tears from her face before they could freeze. He offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. She grinned up at him as she stood, but looked away quickly before laughter could infect her again.

Out of habit, good manners, and prudence they cleaned up any signs of their camp. While the anchors would persist as long as the Veil and the trail had shown no signs of use in decades, there was no reason to leave any indication of the site’s importance.

“What about that,” Solas said, nodding toward his head. “Not that I am unaccustomed to unflattering effigies featuring myself, the snow in this area is year round. It will not melt on its own for some time.”

“You’re right,” Vir said walking toward it.

She pulled her dagger from its sheath. Nearly the length of a sword and sharp enough to slice the Veil, she charged his head with a spinning attack that lopped off a third of his face. Several brutal kicks to his nose and another flourish to his cheeks and chin and all that remained of the sculpture was a pile of fresh snow and a handful of berries. Vir sheathed her dagger and dusted herself off again.

She walked back to where he stood watching in mild shock. She seemed disturbingly satisfied and not even a touch out of breath. She took his arm. “Two down, one to go,” she said.

* * *

Solas woke in a familiar cave. The eluvian closest to the final anchor point was hidden nearby. There was a low fire burning beside him, offering more light than warmth. But he was warm, tucked into a bedroll, a second bedroll piled on top of him, and Vir curled up beside him. Food and drink waited to his left, but he would have to wake Vir before he could make use of either. Her arm draped lightly over him and her head rested against his shoulder, but not on it.

It reminded him of his first dream. The one Cole had not given him. Before he became confused, he had already begun to see her in a new light. He wondered what would have happened if it had just been allowed to continue. He touched her hand, which was indeed cold. She woke instantly.

She did not move her arm right away, but held him down with the lightest pressure.

“Don’t move too quickly, your ribs are bruised,” she said. He nodded and only then did she remove her arm and slip from their shared bedroll. He noticed instantly how cold it was without her.

She built up the fire, it helped, but he was still cold, weak, and his ribs did hurt quite a bit.

“What happened?”

“You finished casting, I think,” Vir said. “Then you fell over. I covered you where you were, but then a storm rolled in and I couldn’t wake you. So I dragged you back here, but...” she trailed off and waved her metal stump. “I only have one arm, so I had to rig something with rope.” She helped him sit and propped him up with his pack.

“Where is my orb?” he asked looking around in confusion.

She busied herself getting him food. Only after handing it to him did she point to the far end of the cave. “It was with you and I tried to secure it, but the storm was coming too fast, so as I got you in here it came free and rolled there. I know it probably doesn’t work that way, but you said touching it would kill me. I didn’t want to press my luck.”

He blinked. “Wise of you, even dormant it would react badly to your tampering.”

She snorted. “I’m even popular with inanimate objects.”

“I will craft some safeguards for you when I have recovered.” He reached toward the orb and it flew steadily to his grasp. Vir backed away from him, moving closer to the fire. Keeping it between herself and him, she began cleaning her knives.

He closed his eyes using the orb’s power to test the last of the anchors. It was there, a solid base note that lent power to the others. Everything was ready for the final spell.

* * *

Skyhold had been abandoned after the events of the Exalted Council. The Inquisition had moved to Val Royeaux under the Divine’s control and Solas had never attempted to reclaim it. Over the years some groups of bandits or adventurers would try to take it, but Skyhold itself did not care for invaders. Uncomfortable dreams and strange noises in the night made the place unbearable for even the hardiest travelers before long.

Vir and Solas walked through the front gate of Skyhold. The empty towers and ancient stone sighed welcome to them both. Solas caught Vir’s surprised smile, she had felt it too.

In the final days spent at the Tower, Solas had sent some of his people to leave supplies for them. Vir had overseen the process and wandered off to check. He wasted no time and prepared the area where he would cast the spell. By unspoken agreement, they met in the rotunda.

Vir brought him dinner, taking her own plate to a couch on the side. They ate in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. She had been less talkative since the final anchor. Something he had attributed to her eagerness to reach their destination. Now, he was uncertain, but before he could ask, she stood.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” she said.

“I will be ready to cast the spell tomorrow morning. I will meet you here first, so that you will be prepared.” In anticipation of any dangers, he had moved a shielding device to Skyhold. Vir could use it while she waited, but it was simply a precaution, more for her comfort than a necessity.

She nodded silently and took herself out.

* * *

Vir was already waiting when Solas arrived the next morning. She had not slept. He would have known that even without having looked for her in the Fade. Dark circles stood out like bruises under her eyes. Her hair, slightly wild from running her fingers through it constantly. He was surprised she had not begun pulling it out.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She looked up, startled as if she had not noticed him. She blinked at him, unseeing, saying nothing.

“Vir?” he asked again.

“Um,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He had an idea of what it could be, but he could never bring her to discuss it.

She started and stopped a number of times, but he waited patiently. “I died at this part or the part just like it. I died a lot. It hurt,” she said, her words coming out in forced bursts. “I watched...” She stopped and tried again. “I watched each Solas turn into...”

“This is not the same as the other times,” he said gently.

Her gaze snapped to his. “I know. I keep telling myself that. Then I think, what if it doesn’t work. Then what? What will you do? What if it goes wrong and the Veil falls anyway. What if something worse happens. I’ve never been here before and I don’t know what will happen after this. Everything will change and I’m terrified.” Her words poured out faster and faster. Her hand balled into fists as she fought herself for control.

He listened to her fears. Without the memories, he no longer knew the depth of what she had witnessed, but recognized that someone had. “Now I know what the circle was for,” he said, rising from his chair. He held out his hands to her. “Come, I have something to show you.”

He brought her to the place where he would cast the spell. They moved very slowly, her muscles so tense as to be nearly paralyzed.

He had conjured a large glowing circle the day before. A wheel inlaid with patterns that would weave their new world into existence. A smaller circle was drawn, not in the center, but in the area of the wheel known as the heart. It was large enough for a single person to sit. The design was for protection, a shelter unnecessary for a mage with his own shields. In any case, his position was to be in the exact center of the wheel in the place known as the mind. He explained what the patterns meant and what the smaller circle did.

“I will cast the spell and you will sit right here. Your Hope designed this spell and made this place just for you. He trusted you to see this through, but he knew you would be frightened. He wanted you to feel safe. He wanted you to witness your success. You were his heart and he loved you very much.”

She burst into tears and he pulled her into his arms. “I miss him,” she said into his shoulder.

“I know. I’m so sorry, lethallan,” he said, stroking her hair. “We need not move forward yet. We will only start when you are ready.”

He meant it. He would wait years if that was how long it took, but Vir would not have let him. She pushed away drying her eyes and let him help her sit in the circle created just for her. She gave him a tremulous smile and nodded. He bowed, taking his place, and closed his eyes.

The Veil was a partition, permeable and malleable. It overlaid Thedas, a barrier between Fade and physical. This spell would not alter the Veil and Fade everywhere, but in this place reality and Fade would meet again.

The notes echoing through the anchor points were amplified through the spell. It twisted the Veil, inverting its purpose, then it called to the Fade and invited it back. He let the spell go as if loosing an arrow and opened his eyes to watch his creation unfold.

He spared a glance for Vir. She stared into the distance, her lips parting in wonder. The place she had lived in a thousand lives had become living rock, glowing and swaying to music she could not hear. Colors there were no names for spanned from earth to sky in infinite spirals, escaping to the stars and beyond.

Her circle began to change as well. A glowing mist of blue surrounded her. Simple notes chimed, a side effect of the magic glancing off the edges of her shields, but the effect was intentional and the notes a final message. The melody to _Ame Amin_. She closed her eyes as the music played. Pressing her fingers to her lips for the love she had never kissed.

The song ended and the spell took hold.

* * *

Across the Waking Sea, in the Black Emporium, a new page is written in the _Emergent Compendium_. A drawing featuring a mountain plateau, captioned: * _vudhssdvlg wlppxv ’vqldwqxrP nfdewvruI_. 

 (*Translation: Frostback Mountains’ summit disappears.) 

 


	19. Swear, drink, dance, revel the night

Vir stayed in her old room at Skyhold. She had attempted to take a common guest room, but Solas had insisted she retain the main quarters. After help arrived, all of Skyhold would begin to change and he wanted her to keep something familiar.

Its elvhen name, Tarasyl'an Te'las, would change as well. It would become a gateway for his people returning to the Fade. A new, more appropriate, name would be chosen later.

Solas’s people began to arrive to make ready for the mass migration. And to no one’s surprise, so did the spirits. Hundreds of them and more, all eager to see the living return to the Fade.

The elves under Solas’s guidance all worked with the spirits to transform Skyhold. The first of their changes were simple repairs. The prison below, half of it gone with walkways still crumbling, was rebuilt in a day. The new stone matched the old as if they had always been together. Cracks in the walls, holes in the ceilings, patched and made proper over night. Then they began adding new structures.

Vir watched what she could from her balcony, careful to stay out of the way. Today a spirit directed some elves in the placement of crystal spires atop the existing watchtowers. Vir was pleased to see that the spirits had been influenced by mortals. She recognized Orlesian architecture and Rivaini colors, even some Avvar touches here and there. It was bittersweet to watch the place she had known for so long, change completely in a matter of weeks.

Someone knocked on her door.

“Come in,” she called, still watching the construction efforts in awe.

Solas came up the stairs, saw what she was looking at and joined her on the balcony. She tore her eyes away and gave him her attention.

He smiled, an expression that came more easily now than she had ever remembered before. “I presented your request to the Council. Those of your people who wish to attempt settling in the Fade will be given rights to a new territory that I will establish by the end of the year.”

Vir blinked. He had said it would take some time. Given the elvhen definition of ‘some time,’ she thoughts years or decades or even generations. “So soon?”

He chuckled at her surprise. “Given the Council’s high spirits and appreciation of our efforts, there was no better time. Your friend, Athim, has convinced many of the elvhen that your kind are not so distant from ours. Some even believe you may benefit from the effects of living in the Fade. Perhaps your people can regain your immortality.”

Vir raised a brow. “And what do you think?”

His face clouded for a moment. “I fear it is unlikely. The Fade is deeply anchored within our people. The next generation born here, or perhaps the next after that, but I fear for you and the others, it may be too late.”

It was what she had expected. “I'll be sure not to get their hopes up.”

“You will also have a voice on the Council.” He grimaced. “That was far more difficult to arrange, but I reminded them of what happens when a large group of people feel they are without representation. Of course, they also realize a single seat would not afford any true power, merely the illusion of it.”

“Of course,” Vir said cynically.

“That representative should be selected by your people. However, there is already a suggestion that it be you.”

“Is Inan trying to get me to sit in on your boring meetings?”

He chuckled. “Actually, no. Garas nominated you. He claims he has had time to think over what happened with Dirtharevas and wanted to make amends. I question his true motives, but I can see no reason to argue with him. You will make an excellent ambassador to our people.”

“I appreciate your confidence,” she said, seriously. “But Keeper Istimaethoriel will be a better representative than I. She has grown strong relations with the city elves and other clans that we've been able to reach. She would be a well accepted choice as Keeper and not nearly so lost when you all speak about magic.”

“I am certain that your Keeper is competent,” he allowed, “but it is you that speaks elvhen fluently and you who has gained influence among our people. You know our ways and our customs... you would be the best choice to help your people settle here.” He appeared to be readying more arguments, but she held up her hand.

“That’s why it shouldn’t be me. We’re mortals. Your Council will have to adapt to new people taking that place. People they won’t know. People who are not like me. They may as well start now.” She smiled apologetically as if it were her fault that her people were not immortal. She continued, “As to settling in, don’t worry. I have a feeling my people will have a great deal of help. It's all Lindel and Bishali talk about, though I doubt they thought they would be able to start so soon. My people will be in good hands.”

His confusion faded as a look of understanding emerged. “You're not staying?”

She laughed. “I just watched you and the spirits construct the wing of a castle in a matter of days. It took me years to get the time and resources to fix that hole in Cullen’s ceiling. You don’t need me here.” She had not meant their relationship, but it was the natural assumption.

“Is it because I... because we’re not...” She put her hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“No,” she said. “It’s not that. I won’t say that it’s easy, but I have loved every other version of you and we were rarely ever together.” She smirked. “I’ve been with Minister Bellise more often than I’ve been with you.”

He no longer had the memory of the encounter, but he remembered clearly their conversation about it after. He blushed.

She held his gaze intently. “Your friendship has always been more than enough and even that I never expected to have in this lifetime. If I thought I could do more here than out there, then this is where I would be. But out there is still the mess I helped to make. I will not leave my allies to pick up the pieces. I have to try to set things right.”

He sighed in defeat, unable to find a convincing argument. “Very well. You have done more for all our people than anyone will ever know. You will always be welcome among us.”

“Thank you,” she said.

The moment hung between them, neither speaking but neither wanting to part company. Solas finally broke the impasse. He cleared his throat. “I hope you weren’t planning to leave right away.”

She raised a brow. “Not necessarily, why?”

He tilted his head. “We have built a world for our people. The elves have come home to the Fade. We must celebrate this victory. A true elvhen celebration.”

She grimaced. “Am I to be the guest of honor?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “You and I are the hosts. You lived at Skyhold for longer than I,” he reasoned. “This place is yours as much as mine.”

She snorted. “You just want me to bake cherry tarts.”

He contrived to look innocent. “I would not decline if you insisted.”

* * *

Vir was spared most of the madness involved in planning a party fit for the elvhen. Which was just as well since she had left that kind of labor in Josephine’s willing and skillful hands. She did, much to Solas’s approval, find the kitchen where helpers were preparing the food to be served and found someone willing to learn her recipe. Solas appeared at regular intervals to sample the results. Not as good as the Inquisitor’s, he would say to the ire of the pastry chef, but a few more centuries and he might get it right. He was then banned from the kitchen until after the party.

Solas had sent someone to help craft her clothing. They were to create whatever Vir desired to wear. He doubted that she would be too demanding, but the tailor had returned, irritated and a little terrified. Solas had planned to escort her to the party, but now curiosity and a small amount of alarm forced him to investigate.

He knocked on the door to her quarters. Vir appeared a few moments later, dressed ... he supposed elegantly, would be the kindest term.

She wore not a gown, but a long tunic and leather breeches. The simple cut of her clothes were reminiscent of both Dalish and elvhen, patterned in various shades of gray. The dark colors matched well, though none were quite the same and managed to break up her slim silhouette without diminishing her form. She appeared to be the living embodiment of smoke, in other words...

“We are here to celebrate, not assassinate,” he reminded her.

“The night is young,” she replied with a smile.

He did not move out of her way or offer his arm. He merely raised a brow.

She looked him up and down. He wore formal armor, though the materials were more flexible than metal. The overcoat was also more plush and cut to show off flourishes in a dance rather than anything that was practical for fighting. A soft fur stole, a concession to his namesake, draped over his shoulder. Like her, he wore dark colors, but his were threaded through with green-gold embellishments.

Her gaze was appreciative, but her words teasing. “Why, Fen’Harel, are you saying I’m too drab for your party?”

He allowed a smile. “You will never be drab, but you could try to be less intimidating.”

“Me?”

“I am certain the story of the Dread Wolf and his Banal’ras as hosts would be an interesting one, but many of my people are far from certain about this new world. We want to set their minds at ease.”

“Am I your Banal’ras now?” She fluttered her lashes.

“That is what they will say,” he said.

“So what does the Dread Wolf prefer?” she asked dryly. “The Inquisitor? I would think that’s even worse.”

“I would rather be Solas,” he replied seriously. “And I prefer Vir.”

The corner of her mouth turned up. “Little do they know that we two are far more dangerous as ourselves.”

He ducked his head in acknowledgment of the simple truth. “We can leave destroying the world for the next party.”

She surrendered to his wishes. “Fine, what should Vir wear to this party?”

He held out his hand, a light glowed on the surface. “Would you allow me?” he asked.

“I’m sure there’s a children’s tale where the elf wizard turns the mortal into a princess for a night.” She grinned. “Will my clothes vanish if I stay too late?”

“Hush,” he said, “and hold still.” He cast what would have been a simple illusion outside the Veil, but here could change reality. It transformed her clothes into an elaborate gown. The neckline, cut low and off the shoulders. The sleeves, a cascade of translucent fabrics that touched just past her knuckles. The full skirt, more layers of the same, slit up to the thigh to show off leather leggings styled in the Dalish fashion. Dark colors still, but patterned through with green-gold trim to match his.

She looked down in surprise. “It’s very... supportive,” she said, noting that her cleavage was more impressive than usual. “Did you change my underthings too?”

“Are you certain you’re still wearing any?” he asked archly.

Her mouth dropped open and she dashed back into her room. A peal of laughter rang out through the door and she returned just as quickly, still settling her skirts back into place.

“They’re lovely, thank you,” she said taking his arm. “I like the little wolves.”

He colored slightly, but tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her to the grand ballroom.

 

* * *

 

Vir did not know what to expect from an elvhen party. The Dalish had stories, the Vir Dirthara had examples, but half-remembered tales and images without context could not capture the sights or splendor.

An elvhen party, it seemed, was at once familiar and unlike anything she had ever seen. Revelers danced, but as many floated through the air as twirled across the floor. Trays of wine and dainties circulated on platters carried by servers, but the servers were all spirits. Hunger and Desire, both participating, but they were unlike the demons Vir had seen in Thedas. These were beings of light, who tempted those attending with their favorites, but sought not to cause harm.

The guests arrived in small groups. Councilors and their clans, anyone who wished to attend, regardless of rank or position. Solas circulated among them all, while Vir chose to mingle with the people who would welcome her presence or at least not disdain her openly.

“Inquisitor,” a familiar voice called.

She forced herself into a relaxed posture. “Councilor Garas,” she said formally.

“Am I to understand that you will be leaving us?” he said, gliding toward her in the very definition of elvhen finery.

If someone were to ask an elven child growing up in the city or the forest what the elvhen gods looked like. Dalish or alienage, the child would describe Garas. Tall, fine featured, his long hair elaborately braided in a configuration that required either magic or a small army to style. Vir thought he looked like a walking ice sculpture. His robes seemed to be composed of crystals that constantly moved in flurries rather than fabric. Or maybe there was just something about him that seemed rather cold.

Garas had been a mystery to her. She never befriended any of his servants, sycophants, or advisors. He had kept his people out of the fighting, preserving them, but also leaving the work to everyone else while demanding equal benefit. Shrewd, was what she would have called him before, but he was typical of what she expected of men in power. So she had thought. Now, she suspected there was more to it.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I know my presence has been a source of discomfort. I am glad to finally be able to alleviate it.”

“You are too magnanimous after our treatment of you, myself in particular. I did not believe this would work, but you and Fen’Harel have achieved the impossible.”

“Not impossible, Councilor, only extremely unlikely,” she allowed.

“Where will you go after this? Your allies have all moved on to their own projects after hostilities between our peoples ceased.”

“Here and there,” Vir said as if she had not decided. “I love traveling.”

He sighed. “I had thought with your... relationship with Fen’Harel, you would have accepted a seat on the Council.” He assumed a mask of concern. “I hope everything is alright between you. You are oddly suited to one another.”

Vir had not spent the greater part of ten thousand years fencing words with people who would gladly see her dead to not be able to smile convincingly on demand. “I appreciate your nomination, Councilor, but I was never one to sit in long meetings. Mortality makes my patience somewhat short. My Keeper, on the other hand, was trained in it at birth. She would be far more suitable a colleague.”

“I understand. Sometimes we elvhen get carried away with our arguments. It is part of who we are, you see? Nothing is better to us than a spirited debate. You should come to the territory my people are settling. You have made friends among the others, but I don’t think you have even spoken to any of mine.”

“I have not had the honor,” she replied. They had all pretended she did not exist, but she decided not to mention it.

“Then you must come once we have completed construction of our first keep. I will invite you to the opening ceremony. You will be my guest,” he said.

Vir smiled again and turned to take a glass of wine from a passing tray while trying to find a way to politely reject his offer.

“Inquisitor,” a voice sent by the last merciful god said from behind her.

“Athim,” Vir said, turning to greet him with a genuine smile.

“Excuse me, Councilor Garas, if I may interrupt your conversation. I’d like to ask the Inquisitor to dance before I lose track of her this evening.”

“Of course, of course,” Garas said, looking as if he would like nothing more than to say no.

Athim held out his hand. Vir accepted it and allowed him to sweep her out to the dance floor. As neither of them were strong mages, they kept their feet firmly on the surface. He seemed not to care that she only had one arm. He placed the stump of her left against his chest, clasped her right hand, and led her in circles to a song she did not know.

“I apologize for taking advantage of you, Inquisitor,” he began. “I thought you might be uncomfortable in that conversation. I thought if I asked now, you might actually say yes.”

She smiled up at the man whose heroism had saved her more than once. She regretted that he would never know exactly how. “Name your price and you may have it,” she said and noticed that his grip around her waist tightened in surprise for a moment.

He cleared his throat, blushing. “I did have a favor to ask of you,” he began. “Could you please ask Inan to stop attempting to find me a mate?”

Vir laughed at his woebegone expression and shook her head. “I’m sorry, my friend, but I do not think that anyone has that kind of influence. I could never get her to stop doing it for me.”

He considered that bit of information. “If she chose the Dread Wolf for you, then perhaps I should listen to her.” He spun her away and then back.

“What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head.

“From the first day when you rescued us, he looked at you and I saw myself, and you looked at him the same way. It’s how I knew I had no chance.”

She looked down, shaking her head, and changed the subject back to the first. “Inan wants everyone to be in love the way that she is. I doubt you could make her stop looking, but she doesn’t choose maliciously and it means she considers you a friend.”

He sighed as the song came to an end. “Alright. Thank you for your advice and the dance.”

“Thank you for saving me again,” she said.

He bowed and led her off the dance floor, deliberately walking to the opposite side from where Garas was waiting. With all the dancers and guests standing between them, Vir’s inferior height would hide her quite conveniently.

She watched Athim go, someday someone would be very lucky.

* * *

The party had ended by nearly wordless agreement, the guests simply got tired and left. There had been no sunrise to chase them to their beds, no end in sight to food or drink, and Vir felt as if she had been awake for days. Considering how time moved in the Fade, she may have been. The music still played by some mysterious magic. Fortunate, because mortal musicians would have been in agony.

Most of the guests had tendered their thanks and farewells to Solas. Co-hosts they might be, but her part in everything was not common knowledge and thus she seemed more of a trophy than a partner. She did not mind, though she wondered how many fights had almost broken out when an ignorant guest had said something rude and her friends had jumped to her defense.  
  
Inan’s group was the last to leave. Most had drank far too much and some were being carried back to their rooms by spirits. Abelas was being carried by Inan. Vir said goodnight to them all and turned to find Solas waiting for her.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Solas asked.

“I did,” she admitted, “but I hate parties.”

He seemed startled by the revelation. “Why didn’t you say something?” he asked, surprise turning to hurt.

She laughed and patted his arm. “Because I know that you like parties. All the intrigue, pomp, and posturing. For the observer who mingles in every circle, but never stays long,” she raised a brow, “it’s a treasure trove of information. Besides, this celebration was not for us, but our friends. They needed this more than I needed another night of writing books.” She tilted her head. “So the question is, did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did,” he said. “Though I did not have the opportunity to dance,” he said, bowing over his extended hand. “Will you grant me the honor?”

“Of course,” she replied, taking his hand and spinning into his arms.

She had never danced with any version of Solas after the Exhalted Council. The place, the time, the clothing, it was all strange and entirely different. There were no echoes of the past to haunt her, nothing reminding her of what she had lost. She leaned her head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. If she said nothing, she could almost pretend.

“Why do you love me?” he asked, plaintively.

Vir looked up, surprised by the question. It was the first time he or any other version had ever asked.

“I am not the same man who designed the spell. I am not the man who walked at your side all those years, condemning you and saving you. I am not the others whom you befriended as you tried to make the world better. We fought. We hurt each other. You finally tried to tell me the truth and I tried to kill you. If this was the only life you had lived, would you still love me?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitating.

“Why?” He seemed bewildered.

She sighed and put her head back against him. They danced, but he waited for her to answer. “I threw out all the people in Haven and you left with them. Your discomfort with the Templars was only part of it. You did your best to aide them, though they treated you with fear and contempt. When Corypheus attacked, you saw to their safety. You helped them survive the escape through the mountains. Then despite everything I’d already done, you gave us Skyhold.”

“You were my best hope for retaking my orb,” he said. “And those people were refugees because of my actions.”

“I know,” she allowed. “You were trying to fix your mistakes, both recent and ancient. All the while trying to understand a world that was completely alien to you. I knew how to make your life difficult and still you tried. You could have let the Qunari destroy the Winter Palace. You could have let the Inquisition take the blame. You could have left me to die by the mark. You still saved us. You saved me.”

“I was only delaying chaos and death for you all. My plans were no better.”

“No, but you did not have to do those things,” she said, continuing. “And then you walked into your office and found your hated enemy sitting in your chair and you said,” she prompted him.

“Get your boots off my desk,” he said, chuckling.

“You could have killed me on the spot. You didn’t because if there was even the tiniest chance that I had a solution and you didn’t have to kill all those people, who weren’t even people to you at the time, you would listen. And until you knew what had happened to me, you believed that you would not have destroyed the world if you had known the truth.”

He tensed in anger. “We both know I was wrong.”

“Were you?” she asked. “You are unique, as a man and as a Solas. Every version of you has taught me something different. You made me realize that perhaps I shouldn’t have given up trying to make the world better. I shouldn’t have sacrificed everything to end the cycle of death. You made me believe again.” He did not reply at first. She paused, her steps faltering. “Does it bother you? Do you wish for me to stop loving you?”

His answer came quickly. “No, but I am afraid I do not deserve it,” he said, shifting her in his arms so she could see his face. “I did not save you out of mercy. I had thought you would die in the crossroads to the Qunari or the guardians. By the time you reached me, the mark had grown in power so much that it threatened the Veil. I could not allow another Breach. I let you live because I thought the mark was the only source of your influence and your skill at fighting would end with your disability. I did not kill you, but I thought you were as good as dead.”

Her Hope had not told her that. They continued dancing. Two terrible people who brought out the worst in each other then somehow managed to make each other better. “Oh, Solas,” she said shaking her head. “You should have killed me.”

“You should have killed me,” he replied.

She tilted her head, grimacing. “Yes,” she was forced to agree. “But I don’t regret it,” she offered. “Do you?”

He looked up at the world they had created together then back again at her. “Not anymore.”

* * *

Vir woke with Solas still beside her. They had talked about all the things they had done and all that remained to do. She had warned him about Garas. He agreed with her assessment. He told her of the human conflicts and what intelligence his spies had gathered. She told him the weaknesses of each Council member and the way they might be persuaded to his side. He told her of the dream he had before Cole began his tampering. They said their what-ifs and fell asleep holding hands.

She had planned to slip out of bed without waking him, but his eyes were already open watching her sleep. “Stay,” was the first thing he said.

She squeezed his fingers, smiling while her heart clenched painfully. She shook her head and tried to get up.

He pulled her back. “Stay,” he repeated softly. “Please.”

“I can't,” she said. His grip was not painful, but she could not break it without effort. “I have to go.”

“Then let me go with you.”

Her mouth dropped open at his unexpected request. She shook her head. “You’re needed here.”

“Not forever. I must create a place for your people, but after that it is the Council who would govern.” He spoke softly, but his voice was pleading. “If you stay while I build a home for your people, then I could go with you. I am as responsible for what happened to your world as you are. I would not leave you to pick up the pieces alone.”

“Is that why you would go with me?” she asked, readying her reasons to say no.

“No,” he said, loosening his grasp of her hand, but not letting it go. “I erased the memories of my predecessor. I know myself, but I feel as if I no longer know you, not like I did.” He struggled to find the words as if he had only just made up his mind. “I want to know you and if I let you go, I will regret it for the rest of my life.” He chuckled. "I have enough of those already."

It was strange to hear the words of the past echoing back through a different set of images. “This is unfair,” she said. “You’re taking advantage of me because you know that I like you.”

“I am the Dread Wolf,” he said, a hint of a smile on his lips. She sighed and he knew he had won. He pulled her into his arms, embracing her tightly enough to hurt. She laughed.

“Fine,” she said and she stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a kind of denouement for the major plot of Those Who Forget. (they cast the spell, woohoo world still there, only top of mountain gone) It's why most of the last couple chapters were fairly fluffy. 
> 
> I've decided to end this story here. There may be more later, but I will start it as a new thread, though I'm not sure when and if that will happen.
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3


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